


Out of The Woods

by WannabePrincess



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassins & Hitmen, Blow Jobs, Derek Has Issues, Domestic Violence, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Kira Yukimura/Erica Reyes, Minor Liam Dunbar/Scott McCall, Minor Vernon Boyd/OMC, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Smut, Stiles Has Issues, Torture, Unrelated Derek Hale & Peter Hale, Violence, everyone is ooc, stiles is a cutie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 170,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26927929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WannabePrincess/pseuds/WannabePrincess
Summary: Stiles  fumbled  slightly  with  his  words  desperate  to  break  the  tension.“Are..  are  you..  De..  Derek..?”He  asked  in  a  whisper,  voice  shaking  so  badly  that  he  could  bet  the  other  man  didn't  understand  a thing.The  dark-haired  guy  took  the  last  swig  from  his  beer  before  putting  it  down  loudly  on  the  table.Stiles  flinched  hard  at  the  sound  it  made,  not  daring  to  move  even  slightly.“Maybe, I  am.”Stiles  repressed  an  urge  to  shift  from  feet  to  feet  and  met  the  man's  penetrating  gaze  head  on,  a determined  look  on  his  face.“I  want  you  to  kill  someone  for  me.”OrStiles thought all of his problems could be solved with a gun.Derek’s got a gun.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore, Stiles Stilinski/OMC
Comments: 110
Kudos: 317





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> General Warning : My horrible horrible grammar🙅 🙅

Stiles stood in front of the shabby looking building. It looked like a normal one but Stiles knew better.

He was almost scared to death as he approached the hugely built man guarding the door.

Stiles fidgeted slightly when the man glanced down at him. He gave the man a tentative smile which was promptly ignored but the man made no move to stop him when he entered through the door.

He could hear the faint music coming from inside and nervously clenched the straps of his bagpack.

He crossed a very small hallway, the walls lit with flashy boards. 'Shawn's Bar' the sign read. So, it was a bar.

The man, Rob, who texted Stiles the address of this place never mentioned that. Stiles was sure he was going to get involved in some serious gang business shit. The man by the door didn't even asked to see his ID, Stiles mused. Then again, most probably only criminals hang out here.

His nerves were all over the place when he pushed the small door open and made a first step inside. He couldn't believe what he was about to do. gosh no.

The people inside were loud, music was louder, no one seemed to be paying much attention to his presence but he still felt lost.

It was so clear that wasn't the place for him. Looking at the rough faces of the men surrounding him he felt like a lamb in a lions' cage.

It wasn't the greatest of feelings. He swallowed hard something that wasn't even in his throat and made some steps further, placing a foot ahead of the other like a child who's just learned how to walk.

Stiles found a quiet corner at the farthest end of the bar where no drunk people could bump into him. But he had much bigger problem at hand. He had no idea how the man he came here to meet, looked like.

The bar was fairly crowded and there was no way to single out one particular person. Rob was no help either. He just texted back, “ No worries, when you see him, you'll know”. Great...

Stiles felt a panic attack already starting to build inside him. He took a deep breath. 'Now is not the time to break' He repeated mentally. He came this close, he couldn't back down now.

Stiles took a look around the bar, contemplating. He really didn't want to approach one of those shady looking men drinking like sailors.

Then his panicked eyes locked on a figure sitting at the counter.

A young man in black jeans and white tee, a leather jacket placed over his shoulders casually. His black hair was slightly styled in a messy way and a strong jaw covered with dark stubble.

The man had an almost empty bottle of beer in his hands while his head was down, eyes set on the table he was sitting on.

Stiles felt a shiver running down his spine without any particular reason.

'Is he the one...?'

He gulped uncomfortably. Even though the man didn't look like a criminal, that didn't mean he would be any less dangerous. With those muscles he could easily break Stiles into two.

Clenching the bagpack straps tighter he got closer to the dark-haired man and cleared his throat.

The man didn't even flinch, he didn't shift his eyes from the table either.

Stiles was sure the man knew he was there. Hell, he was right in front of him and it was impossible for him not to notice.

Stiles bit his lower lip, mind reeling and heart growing anxious by the second as he waited in the uncomfortable silence.

He fumbled slightly with his words desperate to break the tension.

“Are.. are you.. De.. Derek..?”

He asked in a whisper, voice shaking so badly that he could bet the other man didn't understand a thing.

The dark-haired guy took the last swig from his beer before putting it down loudly on the table.

Stiles flinched hard at the sound it made, not daring to move even slightly.

Long seconds passed which felt like an eternity and Stiles was now sure the man didn't hear the question he stuttered out or he was just trying to ignore Stiles's entire presence.

Stiles swiftly turned on his heels, deciding it would be better if he just flee from the scene and go try asking some other people loitering around.

“Maybe,I am.”

He froze on the spot as he heard the gruff voice behind him and turned to looked at the man again.

He eyes were still somewhere else but Stiles knew it couldn't be anyone else but him who spoke those words Stiles heard so clearly.

The voice was deep and rough, almost like a growl that Stiles wouldn't have imagined belonging to such a young man.

"Oh.." Stiles was confused as he turned towards the guy again.

“I'm...” he stammered. “I'm Stiles. St..Stiles Stilinski". His voice low. "I-”

“I know who you are.”

The man finally focused his eyes at the boy. Stiles noticed they were a strange shade of greenish-brown .

'Fascinating' was the only word in Stiles' mind when they locked with his own blue ones.

The guy stood up abruptly sending the chair he was sitting on skidding across the floor.

Stiles almost jumped at that, realizing how much scared he really was.

The man strode towards him, muscles rippling through the thin t-shirt. He was tall and broad, completely opposite to Stiles's slender frame.

As the man approched, Stiles took off his bagpack and opened the chain a little bit revealing bunches of banknotes. It was clear there were a lot more.

The man finally shifted his dark gaze away from Stiles to glance at the money. Then he slowly and deliberately raised one eyebrow looking up at the smaller boy again.

Stiles repressed an urge to shift from feet to feet and met the penetrating gaze head on, a determined look on his face.

“I want you to kill someone for me.”

_...._...._

Derek placed his third mug of coffee on the table near the new pack of cigarettes and sat down on the sofa.

His laptop laid open on the small table. A tab was open showing a file with a man's picture in it .

His little apartment was clean. Actually, it was pretty bare with a sofa, a small table and some stools near the kitchen island, so there wasn't much to mess up anyways. The walls were painted a darker shade of grey and white tiled flooring was pretty generic. Windows were made of plain glass hidden behind pale blue curtains.

It was a small two storey house in a fairly secluded area. The ground floor was being used as a garage and the upper floor had one bedroom, two bathrooms, a small living area with open kitchen place. It was almost cozy if it wasn't for the man living there.

Derek heaved a bored sigh as he lazily scrolled through the profile on his laptop.

His most recent kill.

Thomas Smith, a businessman in his late fifties. Derek was hired by an anonymous person to off him.

It wasn't even hard.

Derek just waited on the roof of a building across the street near one of those rich people 's club where the man frequented and shot him in the head. He had left the place quietly as panicked yells and frightened cries started to overpower the traffic noises down below.

Apparently Mr. Smith was scamming people through his business and cheating on his wife.

Whatever. Derek didn't even care as long as he got paid.

Speaking of which... he glanced towards the bag covered in all kinds of superhero stickers and pins sitting at the corner of his living room.

His mind went back to that night at the bur few days before.

He remembered when Rob, the leader of one of those wannabe gang of street rats, told Derek that a kid wanted to meet him with a job offer.

Honestly he'd never thought that kid would really show up... and even after seeing Derek, the nervousness on his face was so noticeable that he was not sure whether the kid had the guts to go through that hiring or not.

But Derek did his research right before he agreed to set the meeting.

'Mieczyslaw Stilinski'

Derek remembered that he had scoffed at that name.  
It was almost funny how that atrocious name didn't suit the scrawny and delicate person at all.  
Although the kid had introduced himself as Stiles that day. Derek guessed it was his middle name or something.

Stilinski moved to New York city from California to live with his uncle when both of his parents died in a car accident.

Then got married to a certain wealthy businessman at the age of nineteen.

That kid surely didn't know what financial problems were. His uncle had a restaurant business and his husband was wealthy enough to shower him with luxury.  
No wonder he paid Derek that huge amount of money in such a short notice, in cash also.

It stated in the file that the kid was working part time as a teacher in a preschool even though his was well taken care of by his husband.

Even though it looked like the greatest of marriages on the outside , Stiles Mieczyslaw Stilinski still wanted his lovely husband dead.

And that was when Derek came in the picture.

The boy probably wanted his husband's money all for himself. It was often the reason behind the most unexpected murders. People were greedy enough to kill their loved ones for money and property.

At least that's what he had been thinking until he found out there was no mention of the boy in the business man's will. Even if he died, Stiles Stilinski wasn't going get a single penny.

Although Derek found that it was weird for a perfectly happilly married couple, it was even weirder that why would the kid want to kill off his husband if he wasn't gonna get any benefit from his death.

So maybe, his husband was cheating on him or something as most of the rich people do. So he hired Derek in a fit of jealousy.

Well , it was none of Derek’s business anyway. He didn't care about the reasons.  
He got the money so he would do his job, no questions asked.

He had told the boy he would receive a message when it was the right time.

Derek picked up his gun from the table and stood up, stretching his muscular arms. He went inside the bedroom and picked up a black shirt to wear. His little cell phone was on the bed, still shut off. No new messages or calls. Everything was quiet on the illegal side of the world.

He had some mixed feelings about the job. He couldn't stand this situation. Even though he resolved to give in to the kid's wish, there was a itch inside his head making him think this was going to be a mistake.

He never had this feelings about a kill before and he still didn't know whether it was a pleasant one or not. Derek sighed in annoyance, desperate to shook it off.

He went back to the living room and took the computer back on his lap.

It was time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out! for : implied Domestic violence

Stiles got home tired and sweaty. His clothes were too thick for such a warm day . Well, that morning, when he first went out, the weather was way cooler.

He was way too late today.

Lydia made him stay for a stuff meeting at the preschool even though he was just volunteering to teach there because Lydia insisted the school was way understaffed and the kids deserved proper education.

After throwing his jacket on the couch he turned on the phone.

He wasn't allowed to use his phone during work hours and also he wasn't one of those social media addicted so he often forgot to turn it on again after finishing.

As soon as he turned it on, the device started beeping with incoming messages. He shivered a little when he looked through those.

' I will be home around 8pm. Make dinner,' it said, ' Also clean the storage room. It's the third time I've asked you this week and you still didn't do it. Don't make me mad. You know it's better for your own sake.'

Stiles could feel his soul leaving his body and his heart pounding so hard in his chest, as he turned to look at the clock.

It was almost 7 pm. There was not enough time to do both things.

He started to panic.

There was no way to escape. There was no way out. It was going to happen again.

Stiles took a deep breath to clear his head.

He had to choose one of the tasks and do it properly.

Maybe if he was good enough he could escape the punishment for not doing the other one.

He resolved that his husband was gonna care more about filling his stomach after work than to care about the mess in the storage room.

So he put on a clean hoodie and hurriedly headed to the kitchen.

He was wrong.

Later that evening, after locking himself up in the bathroom, Stiles wished he had just packed his bags and ran away from the house right after receiving those awful messages.

But none in his family knew about the things he was going through.

In the past once he thought about telling Lydia but then decided against it. Stiles didn't want to involve anyone in the mess he managed to got into himself.

He could hear the screams and the banging on the fragile door and he knew that it's not going to work as a barrier for much longer.

He sat with his back against the door, knees to his chest, trying to be as quiet as possible while crying. Crying always made it worse.

But it was so hard to keep his voice down.

Just as his muffled sobs were making it hard for him to breathe, he noticed the cell phone inside his jeans pocket beeping loudly indicating incoming message.

The sound echoed in the empty bathroom startling him.

He wiped away some tears and moved on his knees to get the phone out and sat in a more comfortable position, too scared to even stand up while the banging on the door intensified.

"OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!! I SWEAR TO GOD STILES, YOU ARE GOING TO REGRET THIS! OPEN UP!” He heard the screaming.

Stiles tried to tune it all out as he took the phone with shaky hands and saw a familiar black screen with no number on display.

But he knew that it wasn't broken or anything.

On the black screen there was just a word, written in plain letters .

'TONIGHT'

Stiles covered his mouth with one hand and closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't help but feel relieved, though something horrible was gonna happen.

“Thank God,” he whispered, his voice weak after crying so hard. “Thank God...”

_...._...._

Derek hid in alleyway as he kept an eye on the villa in front of him.

Two guards, patrolling in a black car right around the street corner.

Another pair of guards right by the front entrance.  
Possibly other two hiding somewhere in the garden.

That villa had a bit too much security to be just a common businessman's home, no matter how rich.

This wasn't in Derek’s plan. Looked like there was more work to be done than he thought.

However, he was a professional.

Derek blended in the shadow perfectly as he moved, cautious but with determination, just like a wolf.

He easily got rid of the first two guards at the front door, making as less noise as possible.

He had to be extra cautious.

'Who knew this was gonna be so annoying.' he thought while hiding in one of the dark corners of the large hallway.

Unlike the outside, the inside the mansion lacked security.

Derek noticed he was the only one wandering around the corridors.

He barely took note of the luxury that overflew from every feature of the furniture; it was never something he found interesting.

His pursed his lips in a thin line as he proceeded further.  
his steps made no sound on the marble floors.

He made his way through the villa, only a gun clutched in his left hand.

It wasn't supposed to be a difficult Misson so he didn't bring along any other weapon, apart from the sharp knife lodged in one of his pockets.

But then again, that was more out of habit, not because he actually needed that.

It didn't take long before he found himself in front of , what had to be the master bedroom.

He couldn't hear anything but a light snoring sound from the inside .

He closed his eyes and took a deep, silent breath, leaning with his back against the door just for a moment.

Yes... This was the feeling.

He could feel his rage and nerves slowly calming down, as if the thought of his future killing was already placating his mind.

He turned around and opened the door without a sound.

The room was big and dark, but the moonlight coming from the large glass windows and sliding doors of the balcony allowed him to locate the bed immediately.

There were only one figure sleeping under the blankets, in the middle of the king-size bed.

Then he heard another stuttered breath and found the other occupant of the room.

Stiles Stilinski was there, curled up on the giant sofa with a thin blanket wrapped around him.  
His pale face was slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

Even though Derek was sure he had made no sound in approaching the bed, the boy still got startled and opened his eyes.

But Stiles wasn't really asleep. His whole body was bursting with pain from the abuse inflicted on him earlier that evening.

And also, how could he sleep when he knew what was gonna happen tonight?

He felt a weird sensation and found himself opening his eyes before he could detect what had alarmed him.

He looked around the room and barely held back a scream, taking a moment to recognize the dark, tall figure that was standing in front of him.

As soon as he acknowledged Derek's presence in the room, he strangely felt very relaxed. Very contented.

He got up, sitting with his back against the back rest of the couch.

The moment was finally there and he didn't know what to do.

He had imagined the night in various scenario inside his head but the reality was a totally different thing, as always.

He slightly brushed his badly bruised wrists under the blankets and clenched his teeth.

He didn't feel anything for the man sleeping on that bed, the man he called his husband, the man who was about to die at that very moment.

Nothing but hatred. Pure hatred.

He just wanted it to be over soon. He wanted to be free. To breathe . To live his life without constant fear.

He looked up at the killer again, wondering how it was gonna happen.

The man's eyes were almost flashing with a dangerous hue of red as half of his face was hidden by the shadows.

Stiles shivered and wondered for a moment what the hell he had got himself into again.

This man was a murderer. A cold blooded murderer.

Who had assured Stiles that this soulless man wasn't gonna shoot him right in the head after killing his husband?

Still, he had no other choice but to wait.

He tilted his head slightly to the side and licked his parted lips, ready to speak up.

Derek pressed his index finger against his own tight lips in a sushing motion to prevent Stiles from talking, his black leather gloves left only inches of his wrist skin exposed.

He gestured for Stiles to get out of the couch and move to the side.

Stiles felt his heart pounding hard against his chest but did as he was told. He got up and pressed himself against the wall, beside the window curtains.

He glanced at the sleeping figure of his husband with empty eyes.

Derek looked at him, as if he expected the boy to tell him to stop. The whole situation still sounded weird to Derek, but then, a job was a job.

Also the boy had payed good money for that, so he wasn't gonna let him down.

He raised his left hand which held the gun and pointed it at the sleeping man's forehead.

There were at least three meters gap between him and his target, but that wasn't a problem. His aim was excellent.

Killing a defenceless man may be considered as a cowardly thing to do but it wasn't like there's honor or anything in his line of work.

Kill or get killed. That was all. And Derek was pretty good at not getting killed.

He put his finger on the trigger. Soon the man's brains were gonna paint the entire wall behind him.

“Close your eyes.”

Stiles' eyes widened at the low sound of the killer's voice. He wondered why but he knew it was better to not ask questions and just follow his advice.

He closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands, curling himself up in the corner.

Derek closed his eyes for a moment. He could feel the rush of adrenalin and pleasure running up his spine.

A smile slowly grew on his lips.

He started to make a pressure on the trigger but suddenly felt a burning pain on his right shoulder.

He looked down and saw blood flowing from a wound there. His eyes ran to the wall on his right, where a bullet was now stuck, still fuming.

What the fuck.

He turned around to face the glass windows and saw at least two men on the nearest roof, two long range pistols in their hands.

More guards.

The shot had made no sound, the glass was still in it's place, untouched apart from a small hole in the middle of it.

Reinforced glass. Why would a normal businessman need reinforced glass windows? Did he fear for his life? What was going on in here?

This wasn't in the plan.

Derek didn't have time to think about anything else.

In a matter of seconds there were more guards on the roof, on the balcony and another two came bursting into the room with their guns held up.

The business man finally woke up from his sleep and looked around puzzled.

“What the hell is hap-” he murmured before noticing the intruder in his personal bedroom.

He looked at Stiles huddled in the corner of the room and his eyes were instantly filled with rage.

The boy was scared to death and didn't dare to move a muscle from his spot.

“You little bitch...” the man murmured under his breath, then turning to his guards.

“TAKE HIM DOWN!” He pointed at Derek, who still had his gun pointed to the man's head.

'Shit...'

After that everything happened very fast.

The guards were screaming at him to surrender, while the snipers on the roof started shooting randomly without warning.

Derek pressed himself against the wall and pointed his gun to one of the guards inside the room. The next second the man was dead on the floor.

He then glanced at the boy in the corner with a dark glare. That little kid had set all that up to catch him? Why?

Stiles was shivering all over, tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't know what was happening, fear had frozen him up in his place.

Bullets were flying all around him in that room, everyone was screaming, he could make out his husband's voice calling him names and spitting orders to his guards.

'What the hell was going on?' Since when did they have so many guards? And snipers? Everywhere? Why?

He was just a teacher, his husband a businessman, nothing more.

Why did they have that much security? He could barely breathe as the panic attack started. He was gonna pass out and then die, he knew it.

Derek noticed the boy panicking and however weird that situation was, he could tell this wasn't the boy's fault.  
He didn't plan any of this and probably didn't even know how bizarre everything was turning out. He looked lost.

Also the kid was gonna die for sure because his man now knew he may or may not have hired a hitman to kill him.

Fuck it..

Derek acted before he could think about what he was gonna do.

He shot the other two guard without even looking at them while moving rapidly to the corner where the kid was doing a poor attempt to shield himself from the bullets.

Derek grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. Without a word he dragged the kid through the bedroom.

Then he suddenly noticed the businessman with a gun in his hands, pointing at both of them.

' Where the hell did he got that so fast?', Derek thought while he started shooting both at the snipers outside on the balcony and at the man on the bed.

He shot aiming at the man's chest but the bullet hit his arm.

At least he had to let go of the gun long enough so they could manage to escape.

Once Derek got out of the room, still clutching the boy tightly, the kid's legs seemed to abandon him.

Derek saw him falling behind the steps but they were not in the position to slow down. He started to almost dragging the boy with him as well.

“Come on, we have to go,” Derek spoke through gritted teeth, but the boy was almost paralysed with fear, too scared to move a single inch.

Derek growled in annoyance, the kid really wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Derek moved to lift Stiles up like he was made of air and carried him on his shoulder all the way out of the villa.

He had to kill two more guards in the garden, before he stole one of their guns since his personal one had only one bullet left.

It was right when Derek noticed a familiar symbol on one of the guards' jacket.

“Shit,.. Shit...Shit..” he murmured under his breath as he turned to get the hell out of there.

A few seconds later when they made it to the main streets Derek looked around for any impending danger.

He knew they only had a couple of minutes on their hands before the snipers would reach them.

He walked fast past another couple of luxurious mansions and reached the bike he had parked well hidden in an alley.

He made a move to put Stiles down and was almost surprised when he noticed the boy was still somewhat conscious.

Frankly, Derek thought that he had passed out long moments ago.

“W-what, w-why- am I-” Stiles was so shocked his brain was barely functioning.

He didn't know if he could even stand on his own. If he wasn't leaning against the alley wall, he would surely be on the ground by then.

He kept watching the hitman with wide watery eyes.

Was he gonna get killed in that dark alley? It looked like the perfect place for a murder. Nobody would even care if he got mutilated in an alley anyways.

Derek ignored the kid's eyes on him and opened the seat of his bike, taking out two black helmets.

He handed one to Stiles and wore the other one. It had a black visor that made impossible to see his face.

“Wa-wait, I don't-” Stiles looked at the helmet like it would burn him if he touched it.

“Wear it.” Derek ordered, already on his bike.

Stiles's lips kept trembling as well as his whole body.

“W-what are you talking about, where are you taking me? What-”

“If you don't want to fucking die, do as I say.” came the harsh reply.

Stiles swallowed hard and wore the helmet not wanting to anger the man any further.

Then he got on the bike behind the hitman.

Derek didn't say anything else and Stiles didn't dare to put his arms around the man’s waist.

A moment later they were running through the streets at full speed.

Stiles was scared to death as the man kept zooming past the cars, taking sharp turns.

He hesitated a bit and eventually clutched the flaps of the lather jacket around Derek’s waist. He had to if he didn't want to fall out of the bike.

He felt powerless, like he had just experienced a year's worth of emotions in one evening. Nothing was in his control right now.

He rested his head against the man's back without even noticing. He could smell the scent of his black leather jacket and gunpowder.

It was late, but the city was still alive. He could hear voices and cars and music as they passed the main streets.

The cold wind blew around him, giving him some relief. Stiles sighed, fighting to stay awake. He was so so tired. The turmoil he went through, both physical and emotional, finally started to take a toll on him.

He could feel his whole body wanting to shut down, to give up to unconsciousness and he wanted to let go so bad.

His mind was empty, as well as his heart. The finger-shaped bruises his husband left on his wrists, still hurt, and it wasn't the only thing that was hurting.

But even beside the ever present pain and fatigue, he felt strangely calm. Whatever that was gonna happen to him after this, didn't matter anymore. He had nothing left to lose.

Right?


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles woke up the next morning feeling exhausted and confused.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at an unfamiliar off- white ceiling.

' Wait,' he thought to himself, ' this isn't my bedroom.'

There was no trace of the luxurious furnitures that dominated his bedroom. Just plain grey walls.

He must be still dreaming. So he closed his eyes again to shake off the drowsiness but when he opened them back up , nothing had changed.

But then that very moment, everything came rushing back to him.

He stood up maybe a bit too fast, then winced slightly as the headache that was already building doubled instantly.

“Ugh...”

He rubbed his face with one hand and looked around.

The room was small. But then again, he was used to very large rooms, so maybe he should consider that it was 'normal' instead of 'small'.

Everything seemed to be very monochromatic, except for the curtains that were bluish and the floor white.

Stiles looked down and found himself sitting on a mattress placed on the floor in one of the corners , of what looked like both a living room and a kitchen.

The furniture was only the essentials: a kitchen table, a couple of stools, a small couch with a low table in front of it. And the small kitchen shelf of course.

That was all. No TV, no bookshelf, no decorative objects.

It looked like how a room would be right after a recent move. Except for the fact that there were no boxes around.

There were also two doors and a small corridor, but he couldn't see where it ended from there.

His 'bed' wasn't that bad except for the fact that he was practically sleeping on the floor.

He even had a couple of blankets and a pillow. It was comfortable and he must have slept for a long because he could tell that the sun was setting by the faint light coming through the windows.

'Where am I?', he thought to himself.

He remembered the night before very well. The guns, the shots, his husband yelling at him, the guards, the snipers...

...the hitman.

His musings were interrupted when sudden noises started coming from one of the rooms.

Stiles froze in his place and looked at the door in front of him, fully alert.

' Speaking of the devil...'

He thought to himself as the door opened and the hitman came out, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

He wore black jeans and a white wife-beater. He was barefoot and his short hair messy.

He looked at Stiles with the cigarette between his thumb and index finger.

“You're awake.”

Stiles nodded slowly while gawking at the man's arms, built with strong muscles, that for some unknown reason had attracted his eyes.

Derek just raised one of his eyebrows when he didn't get any response from the boy.

“Yes, I uh.. uhm... sir.” Stiles answered, promptly averting his eyes when he felt the man's attention on him, face turning a gentle shade of red as he got caught staring at the other.

Stiles didn't know how to speak with him. He shouldn't even be speaking with him, he was a killer and Stiles could easily be his next victim.

A snarl grew on the man's lips.

“Don't call me that,” he said, making his way towards the kitchen counter.

Stiles just sat there and watched his every move cautiously, wary of any sudden attack, but he realized the man was just making coffee.

It was such a normal thing to do that it left Stiles confused and surprised, like he didn't expect a hitman to make coffee.

“Then... uhm... Der.. Derek?” He tried again, hoping he wasn't making the worst of mistakes in showing such confidence.

The man said nothing. He poured some coffee in two cups and brought one to his lips. Then he pushed the other cup towards Stiles.

Stiles took that as a permission. Good to know that the man was not gonna shoot him dead for calling him by his name.

He looked back at the door from where Derek had just came out and noticed a bed. It must be the bedroom.

“How long did I sleep? I don't remember anything about how I ended up over there...” he dared to ask, observing how the man moved to sit at the table and drink his coffee. He looked calm.

Derek looked up from his cup and met Stiles's gaze. The boy immediately looked away, shy and a bit scared.

This kid...

“You were passed out on the bike when we got here.” He explained, and nodded at the clock on the wall. “It's 5pm.”

Stiles followed his gesture and noticed a round white clock on the wall above his head. Somehow it didn't look like something the hitman would buy. It probably was there from before.

He thought about what the man just said. According to his words, Stiles had passed out as expected, in the end. So how did he get up there?

He looked up at the man again and realized he must have carried him all the way up to this room and put him into the bed.

He also realized he had saved his life the night before. If Derek hadn't dragged him out of there, his husband would have killed him right away. This killer could be more human than he had previously thought.

“Thank you...” he murmured.

Again, Derek said nothing. He drank all of his coffee in one go and stood up, startling Stiles.

“ Drink that," he pointed to the cup near Stiles.

Stiles hurriedly took the cup. He didn't want to accidentally offend the man or make him angry.

He was thankful for the coffee. After all the crying he did the night before, he felt kind of dehydrated.

Derek stood up and nodded,

"Eat something,” he simply said, making a very vague gesture towards the kitchen counter.

He turned to go back inside the bedroom, but stopped before closing the door. He turned around and looked at Stiles straight in the eyes.

“We need to talk.” He stated, in the deepest of voices, his face was more serious than before.

Stiles' eyes widened at that. It didn't sound like something good at all.

The hitman disappeared into his room soon after, shutting the door and leaving a puzzled Stiles in his messy futon.

' I have to get out of here.'

_...._...._

The atmosphere inside the large room was tense.

The long table in the middle was occupied by more than fifteen men in black suits.

They all had a peculiar symbol on their jackets: a demonic fox with glowing red eyes.

All of them had their eyes fixed on the man sitting at the end of the table.

The man's body language looked composed, but his eyes were angry . No, not angry. The most proper definition for his expression would be, full of unfathomable rage.

“Any news?” He asked calmly.

One could easily tell he was the boss from how all the other men looked honestly scared by him and didn't even dare to look him in the eye.

Most of them were looking at the table or at their hands.

It looked like a conference meeting of some big corporate industry, but it wasn't exactly like that.

There was silence and then a man who sitting on the man's right side, spoke up.

“We found out his identity.” he stated.

The boss focused his gaze on him and waited for the continuation.

The subordinate looked scared for a moment, then he awkwardly stood up, gulping a little and pressed a button on a small remote control he had in one hand.

On the other side of the room the big screen, almost as big as the wall, lit up. The man fumbled to open the correct file and pressed 'open'.

Derek's face was now visible on the whole wall. It looked like one of those photos that could be found on passports or something of the like.

“He goes by the name, Derek. We don't know if it's his real name or not.” The man explained.

“He's a professional hitman... Actually, he's more than that. He used to-”

“Where can we find him?” The boss asked, impatient. He remembered that face very well.

'That fucking bastard.'

“We... we don't know, not yet.” The man looked nervous now. He knew it wasn't something that his boss wanted to hear.

“He's a like shadow. He leaves no traces. There are no official documents about him, anything we can track down,”

He noticed the look of irritation on his boss's face growing further and tried to save the situation as quickly as possible.

“But we're already working on it, sir. We have some information and we'll surely manage to get him as soon as-”

“Then what the hell are you doing still standing here?!” The boss yelled suddenly and slammed his hands on the table, startling everyone .

“Bring me that fucking son of a bitch! or I'll have your head hanging on the fucking door! as a friendly reminder of what happens in here to useless assholes like you!!.”

Another moment of dead silence followed his burst of rage. The men got the hint and quickly bowed and fled the room murmuring a short 'Right away! Sir.'.

One after another, all the other men left the room too, leaving their boss alone.

The boss got up from his luxurious chair and approached the big screen.

He slammed one hand on Derek's face, as if he wanted to grasp it and tear it up. He looked at the hitman's face and sneered.

“I'm gonna kill you so slowly you'll be begging me for a quick death.” He whispered to the picture with a sick smile on his lips.

“But first I will kill that little whore you're hiding, right in front of your eyes. It's a promise.”

_...._...._

Stiles shivered and hugged himself harder while walking past another block of buildings.

It was cold and he didn't even have a jacket. He was wearing only a thin shirt and shorts that barely passed his mid thigh. He didn't even have shoes on, only a pair of batman printed socks.

He didn't have anything with him, except the clothes he had donned the night before. They were sleeping clothes, not something to wear outside on such a cold evening.

He didn't recognize that part of the city. He knew it was somewhere near the center, but couldn't manage to orient himself. New York was big and he was alone while darkness slowly covered everything.

He stopped in his tracks, panting.

' Where would he go? '

He had managed to leave the hitman's house so easily he couldn't almost believe it.

But now he didn't have any idea of where to go. He had some friends who could probably host him, maybe Lydia, but how would he explain his current situation?

Also there's no way he would put his friends in danger. Because he was sure his husband was looking for him everywhere.

No, he couldn't ask for help to anyone he knew.

'So what was he gonna do?'

He kept walking passing by some shops and restaurants. He glanced at them longingly.

He was cold and hungry, but he didn't have a single cent.

It was frustrating, because he was used to having cash or credit cards with him all the time, and most of all , really expensive and warm clothing on.

He didn't miss those actually , - the money and the luxuries. No..

Stiles was never that kind of guy, he just happened to be a young and naive boy who happened to fall in love with a rich man.

He stopped again, his heart aching.

' Love'

The only thing he had always wanted. The only thing he thought mattered. The only thing that pushed him to marry at such a young age.

But for what? He had married the worst kind of man. He thought about those guards and snipers , the whole debacle he had to suffer through the other night. He didn't even know the man he had married, at this point.

His eyes were suddenly burning and he swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears from falling.

Maybe he had yet to realize that the life he once knew, was over.

He didn't have anything, he didn't have anyone. He was alone and probably more than one person was on his tail and wanted him dead.

He didn't know where he was finding the strength to keep on going , to even stand on his feet.

He turned around the corner and found himself in a narrow street. The tears were now rolling on his cheeks, freely, unprompted. He could barely see in front of him.

He kept rubbing his face to clear his vision with his shirt sleeves as he took one step after another.

He kept thinking he probably looked like a lost baby looking for his mother.

“Are you having fun?” A sudden rough voice asked, just a few meters away from him.

Stiles' head shot up, eyes wide and filled with fear.

Derek was there, smoking a cigarette with his back against the wall. His bike was parked just beside him. It looked like he had been there for a while, waiting.

Stiles blinked once, then twice, puzzled and scared. How could he be there? How could he know Stiles would enter into that tiny street at some point? How... did...

“I-I was... I wasn't trying to...” he stuttered, taking some steps back. Those intense brown-green eyes of the hitman were still firmly set on Stiles' retreating figure.

“You weren't trying to what? Escape?” Derek sneered.

“I guess so. It would be so stupid of you to try, knowing how many people are out there trying to find you at this very moment.”

He made a careless gesture with one hand, like a circle. “To, you know, kill you and stuff.” He said sounding like it was nothing important.

Stiles realized he was making fun of him. The man knew perfectly he would try to escape, maybe he knew it even before Stiles did. He had fallen into the trap. And now what?

“I thought...” he bit his lower lip. “I thought you were gonna... um.. Y-you said we had to talk and I thought...” his heart was racing too fast and he couldn't manage to say the words the right way.

“You thought I was gonna kill you?” Derek threw away the half consumed cigarette and stepped on it as he approached Stiles.

His face was as expressionless as ever. He leaned down and grab Stiles' face , then yanked him near until his lips were almost touching the boy's ones.

“Listen carefully kid, if I wanted you dead you wouldn't be here right now, breathing, do you understand?” He whispered with his deep voice.

Stiles clenched his eyes close and quickly nodded.

“I'm not your enemy.” the man added, backing away a bit.

Stiles still kept his eyes shut in fear, not daring to give any response.

Derek sneered at him, “Now get on the bike.”

Stiles nodded again, swallowing the bits of his panic.

He followed the man, wore the helmet and got on the bike behind him just like the night before.

Derek started the engine with a kick and turned around to look Stiles in the eyes.

“If you try to do this little trick again,” he added dead serious, “I will find you and I will cut your throat so slowly you will hear your own skin tearing apart, is it clear enough for you?”

Once again, Stiles just gulped and nodded, his wide eyes mirroring in a pair of ruthless ones.

He knew for sure that it wasn't an empty threat.

Derek turned around and put his black visor down.

“Because this is what they're gonna do to you anyway when they find you.”

_...._...._

Stiles had never noticed how cold his husband's eyes were, like seriously. It looked like an iceberg had melted into his pupils and gave his stare that soulless look.

He noticed that fact only when he looked at the picture showing on Derek's small laptop screen.

How absurd, Stiles wondered, how he had he not noticed? How did he fall in love with that man.

“Hey, kid”

Stiles shook his head to get rid of those thoughts and met the hitman's eyes.

“Y-Yes?” he whispered.

“Are you even listening?” Derek looked like he was on the verge of losing his patience and that was the last thing Stiles would want to deal with in this situation .

He nodded rapidly more than once, keeping his eyes on the screen.

It seemed like a page of some police department site, which meant they weren't supposed to have access to those informations.

He didn't know how Derek got into the site and he didn't dare to ask.

A black&white picture of his husband took half of the screen, while the other half was filled with words, numbers and attachments.

“Kevin Ito,” the dark-haired man began to explain,

“also known as one of the most cunning and dangerous men in town. He's the head of NY's one of the most powerful criminal organization, The Nogitsune. Their symbol is indeed a fox with red eyes.” He pointed at the man's jacket where a batch could be seen.

“Everyone in the organization has to wear this symbol on their clothes. Your guards did. I noticed it while we were escaping, that's why I did some research.” he stopped to check if Stiles was following.

The boy got even more pale than usual. He heard Derek's words but he couldn't believe it. It was... absurd. He was lost.

“W-what are you talking about? How do you know- how you... all this-” Stiles gestured frantically.

“I worked for them... on a.. project.” Derek cut him off, he didn't look like he was joking.

Stiles was holding his breath without even knowing.

“Y-you...”

“I used to kill for them. I wasn't really one of them, I was kind of a... freelance killer?”  
He sneered quietly, making Stiles shiver all over.

“But I know how it works in there, just... I never met their 'boss'. I wasn't interested that much, also there's a sort of unwritten rule about how no one outside the organization was allowed to meet him.”

Stiles swallowed hard and felt his heart threatening to burst out of his rib cage. That was a lot of information to process in such a short notice and he was still having a hard time to believe any of it.

“I left the organization long ago and started working on my own,” Derek went on, not noticing the boy's struggle to keep a straight face.

“They never forgave me for that. I knew they would hunt me down so I faked my death. And it worked until I accepted that job for you.” He looked Stiles straight in the eyes.

He didn't look angry though, strangely enough.

“But now they know I'm still around and they'll try to track me down. And they want you, too.”

Stiles was almost hyperventilating by then. He looked at Derek, frightened to death.

“You're talking n-nonsense!. Whatever you're saying is that... that...” he trailed off, choking on his own breath. It's happening again. Please not now, no.

No, no, no...

Derek noticed the boy was having a hard time breathing but didn't pay much attention to it, After all not everyday one could manage to find out their lovely husband's a crime boss.

Hyperventilation looked like a pretty normal reaction after those revelations.

“Belive it or not, Kid, your husband controls half of New York's criminals and he will unleash all of them against us. They want us dead,.. got it? and that's why you need to stay here.., or.. you will jeopardize both of our lives.”

He closed the laptop with one hand, taking a deep breath before going on.  
“Everything that man told you was a lie. You were nothing but a cover for him. His alibi for a normal life.”

He never loved you.

Derek hadn't said those words, but Stiles could hear the implications anyway.

The word left hanging in the air, resonating inside his head, stealing all his oxygen and making him suffocate.

He knew Kevin had hurt him, more ways than Stiles could possibly imagine. He knew Kevin wasn't a great husband, but there was this small part in his heart that kept hoping maybe the man loved him, even if it's a tiny bit. They were married after all.

It was getting too hard to breathe, as Stiles felt his head spinning and spinning.

' You were nothing to him. Your love was a lie. He never loved you.

Stiles' vision went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? 🤔


	4. Chapter 4

Derek saw it coming and by the time Stiles lost his senses he already had an arm around his waist, preventing him from falling.

  
“What's wrong with this kid, really...” he mumbled to himself while resting the boy on the futon placed on the floor. 

It was pretty normal for an 'average person' - as Derek liked to call all the people who weren't hitmen - to have some kind of emotional reaction after those revelations, but this freaking kid had already passed out twice in a span of 24 hours. A bit too much. 

  
He stared at the boy's unconscious figure and wondered what the hell he was doing. That kid was better off dead at that point. Half of the city was hunting him down and Derek needed to protect himself. There's no way he had time to babysit a 20-something years old boy. 

  
He took his gun from the table and weighed it in his hands. One bullet straight into the head and that kid's nightmares would come to an end. It was better for both of them.

Derek got up and approached the bed. He took in his little pale face, long eyelashes and a set of pink lips. 

  
_What's called a pretty face._

A thought that was yet to run through Derek’s mind. 

He put the finger on the trigger and pointed the gun at the unconscious boy. Then he stopped. 

The kid was so thin, so... _fragile_.

Yes, that was the right word. Fragile. But did he really deserve to die?..... No. 

'What other choices does he have?,' he thought.   
Maybe he would have done something for the kid if he were a little more human. 

That boy didn't have many choices, nor he's got many chances to survive. Not without Derek anyway.

  
That was when a thought hit him. 

  
'I have to do it....or that kid will surely die.., but, No.. I don't have to, what is it to me anyway..... But I must.'  
His mind argued back and forth. For some unknown reasons, he felt like he had to protect the boy. Just looking at the delicate figure slumped on that futon filled him with something akin to pity. It was such a foreign feeling.

Maybe in another life he was a *guardian of innocence* or some other shit. The hitman snorted at that thought. 

He put his gun down just as Stiles started waking up.

“Uhm...?” the boy groaned rubbing his head as if in pain.

“You passed out, again..” Derek explained in a bland tone while getting up from his crouching position.   
He was too close to the boy, it could look suspicious. 

“Oh... right,' Stiles looked around and realized once again that wasn't a nightmare. He was really living with the hitman he had paid to kill his husband, who apparently was some mafia boss.

His head started spinning again just by thinking about it, so he got up. 

“W-where is the bathroom...?” 

Derek nodded towards one of the doors and Stiles rushed to it. He locked himself in and sank down on the floor, his back against the door. 

He frantically searched in his shorts pockets until he found the familiar bottle of pills, letting out a sigh of relief. 

Luckily enough, there were still some. Stiles always had them with him. He took a couple of pills and got up to drink a mouthful of water from the tap. 

He felt immediately better, his breathing was more in control of himself, so he got out of the bathroom and headed back to his bed in the living room. 

Derek was smoking at the kitchen table, looking at his laptop screen, clearly focused.

It was when Stiles noticed the man had a bandage wrapped around his upper right arm. Stiles suddenly remembered that a bullet had hit him back in the villa. 

  
“You're wounded!” he exclaimed, approaching the man, a little panicked. He reached to touch Derek's arm without even thinking twice. 

There was blood on the bandage, signaling the wound was somehow still open. 

“We have to take care of this, do you have a first-aid kit or something?” Derek looked at the boy with a pointed glare , expressionless. 

“I am perfectly able take care of it myself.” He glowered but wondered how on Earth it was the same kid who was too scared to even look at him just a minutes before. 

Stiles seemed to completely forgot his fears and worries as he looked at the man needing his help. Well, actually this man in particular didn't ask for his help nor did he need it, but Stiles was like that. He just had to help. 

“You're bleeding! You've been bleeding for all this time!” He replied, looking around in the search for something to stop the small flow of blood. 

“We can't leave it like that!” he addressed the other.

“We?” Derek echoed, looking less and less relaxed by the second. The kid was starting to get on his nerves.

“Stop it.” he growled as Stiles pressed the wound with a paper towel.

But that kid kept messing around.  
Derek tried really hard to keep that part of himself caged inside but he could already feel the rage taking over. He got up and blocked Stiles against the kitchen counter, caging his wrists in his strong hand. 

“I said stop it.” He repeated, looking straight in the boy's eyes with his dark ones. He could tell Stiles was scared again, like he had suddenly remembered who Derek was. But then he saw the boy swallowing up his own fear and returning the glower.

“Listen... you saved my life. You helped me out of there, you're hiding me. You're doing all this and I don't even know why.” He lowered his gaze again. “But I know I am grateful for that. I'm scared, I'm not gonna lie, you scare me. But without you I'd be already dead. So I'm grateful. And the least I can do is helping you in every way possible.” 

He raised his eyes once more. “I can't do much but I can do this. Please, just let me. Trust me. I can.”

Derek's face was cold as a winter morning. He wasn't showing any emotion whatsoever, he just kept looking at the boy's face with unwavering eyes. 

Stiles swallowed hard and waited for the man's next move. 

Eventually, the hitman released him and disappeared into his bedroom. When he came back, he had a first-aid kit in one hand. 

  
“Take this fucking thing,” he growled, pushing the box against Stiles' chest. He took the laptop from the counter and sat on the couch with the computer on his lap, not saying anything else.

  
Stiles smiled a little and dared to sit beside him, opening the kit. He was surprised to find a lot more than he expected in a first-aid kit. 

Derek must have been using it to fix his own injuries, even the most serious ones. 

He carefully removed the blood-stained bandage and proceeded to clean the wound. It was not a deep one, luckily enough. Still, it could get infected if not taken care of properly. 

“Uhm, it may hurt a bit...” he warned, receiving a 'oh really?' kind of look from the hitman. Stiles realized how dumb his statement could sound to a man who probably had more wounds in the past month than Stiles had in all of his life.

  
After carefully disinfecting the cut he put a new bandage around it, fixing it carefully so that it won't loosen up.   
Derek kept his eyes on the computer screen the whole time, though his hands were not moving.

“Done!” Stiles announced with a little smile, immediately reeling back as soon as he looked at Derek's annoyed face again. He cleared his throat and closed the first-aid kit to put it aside, not really knowing what to do next. 

Surprisingly enough, Derek broke the silence first this time. 

“You should eat something,” he said, reaching for the first-aid kit near Stiles' leg. Stiles jerked away as fast as light like he had been bitten. 

The man just raised an eyebrow. Stiles immediately realized his reaction was way too exaggerated and tried to cover it up with another faint smile. 

“Yes, uhm... thanks.” He got up and headed to the kitchen counter, glancing back at Derek only to find out the hitman wasn't paying any attention to him like Stiles had thought. 

He probably wasn't interested in his weird reactions at all. Why would he anyway? And why would Stiles want the hitman to be interested? He didn't care about the man too.

_...._...._

“Derek? Um... sir..?” 

Stiles rubbed his eyes and looked around. After having a quick meal he had decided to take a brief nap. He didn't even know how he managed to keep himself relaxed enough to take a nap in a hitman's home, but he had stopped questioning his brain a long time ago. 

Then, lately he also felt like there wasn't really another place in New York or even in the whole of USA where he could feel completely safe again. So he might as well relax a bit. 

  
He got up from his bed and made some hesitant steps through the living room. The house looked empty but after a few moments he realized he could hear the faint sound of water flowing coming from Derek's room.

The man was probably taking a shower. Another pretty normal thing, Stiles said to himself and the thought caused him to relax a little more.

Unsure about what to do in the meantime he took a look around and noticed the first-aid kit still on the couch. 

Being the fussy and clean-freak kid he was, he took the kit and decided he absolutely had to put it where it belonged. 

But it belonged in Derek's room. And Stiles had the feeling he wasn't allowed to enter that room.

He looked at that direction and noticed the door was left ajar. Curiosity was killing him. There wasn't much to do in the almost empty house and he was bored to death. Also, he had to put that kit in its rightful place. 

'What was the worst Derek could do to him if he found out? Kill him?' He had already said he had no intentions to do so as long as Stiles didn't run away again. 

'It's just a room dammit,' he urged himself, already with his hand on the doorknob. He pushed it a bit and before he knew it he was in.

Derek's room was not so different from the rest of the house. Bare, clean, tidy – maybe a bit too tidy. It just had more things in it. For example a nightstand near the bed and some black bags in a corner. Stiles recognized one of them. The sticker covered bagpack. It was the bag he had given the man that night they first met. 

What about the other ones? Completely forgetting about the first-aid kit, he just placed it on the bed and knelt down to examine the bags like the curious cat he was.

A couple of them were empty, one was still full of money and the other one looked heavy. Stiles opened the zip of the last one and held back a scream when he noticed an M4 and two other guns.   
He was scared just by looking at them. He could bet those weren't the only weapons the hitman had and he wondered where he kept the rest.

He was shaking a bit while he zipped the bag again. He was irrationally afraid that he would touch the triggers in a wrong way and accidentally shoot himself in the leg or something.

  
“What are you doing?” 

Stiles stood up as fast as light – almost jumping – and turned around to face the angry man in front of him. 

Derek looked at him and then looked down to see the weapons bag half opened. His eyes got darker than usual.

“What were you doing?” he repeated in a dangerous tone as he took a step in Stiles' direction.

Stiles swallowed hard and held his hands up in front of him as a shield.

“I wasn't doing a-anything, I swear! I was just looking. I didn't mean to touch! I came in here to put the kit back, then I saw those bags... and I was just curious! That's all, I promise!” He was trying very hard to explain about his morbid curiosity.

Stiles didn't know what expression he had on his face but it must have been a pretty scared-to-death one because Derek seemed to believe him. 

It was amazing how he could tell that the man's face had relaxed though objectively he wasn't even blinking. 

  
“You must not enter this room, do you understand?” Derek said seriously, and Stiles nodded furiously. He was a little relived that he wasn't going to die. 

Stiles let out a sigh but then immediately tensed again as he noticed the man was only wearing a towel around his waist and he was still wet from the shower. 

  
Stiles flushed brightly as he tried hard to not let his gaze wander around and it was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to do in his life. 

“Y-yes, I am sorry Derek- um..sir...” he murmured trying to keep his eyes on the man's face. His hair were still half-wet and messy, some drops were rolling down his neck down to his well-built chest and further down to his... Wait, was he really having those kind of thoughts towards a man he had just met? and to top it all, was a professional killer? 

  
Derek snorted and took the first-aid kit from his bed. 

“Don't call me that. Enough with this formal shit, there's no need for it.”

He then got closer and closer, to the point where Stiles could feel his breath against his face and found himself swallowing hard again but for a totally different reason. 

“O-okay then... Derek” he agreed. Then, seeing the man wasn't moving an inch, he looked up to meet his hazel-green eyes. 

“W-what are you doing,” he whispered in a shaky voice. Derek noticed the kid's embarassment and a dangerous grin appeared on his face. 

“I have to put this away,” he nodded to the kit.   
“And wear some clothes.” He grinned again. 

Stiles realized he was waiting for him to leave and jerked his head, quickly leaving the room with a barely whispered 's-sorry'.

He closed the door and leaned to it while he tried to slow down his heartbeat. _Did he just think the hitman was attractive?_ It didn't even make sense. He had no time nor reason to think such an absurdity about a man like him. He took a deep breath and sat on the couch. 

Still... Still he felt his face burning. 

  
_...._...._

  
“I don't have anything with me,” Stiles stated the next evening, while they were having a silent dinner at the kitchen table. 

That afternoon Stiles had pointed out the emptiness of their fridge so Derek had disappeared for a couple of hours and had come back with some takeaway Chinese which they were now eating without even glancing at each other. 

Stiles' statement got Derek's attention though, and the man was now staring at him with his soulless eyes. “What?” he questioned.

Stiles blended the noodles with his chopsticks for a while, looking at the plastic container like it was the most interesting thing on Earth. Then he spoke in a quiet tone. 

“I... I don't have a phone, for example,” he started. 

“You don't need it” came the reply.

“Yes, I do. There are people worrying about me!”

“You're given up for dead by now” 

“I am not-” Stiles was pretty sure he was gaping like a fish.

“It's better if they think you are.” 

Stiles looked up from his noodles and found Derek staring intensely at him. He knew it was better this way, it was the main reason why he couldn't ask for help near his friends - still, hearing it from the hitman somehow made it more real.

He didn't reply to that. He didn't know what to say and kept eating his dinner in silence. For a little while at least. 

  
“I still need to go back and take some of my things,” he started again, his tone somewhere between snobbish and whiny, also it didn't impress Derek in any way. 

“You won't go back,” he simply stated, something in his tone saying 'never'. 

  
Stiles pouted like a child. “I don't have anything with me! Clothes, shoes... money! How can I live like this? It's been three days since I last went out, and there's no way I can go out! I don't have any jackets, I only have socks for god's sake! also.. also! I can't keep wearing the same clothe-”

  
“Fine, we're going out.” Derek cut him off, probably fighting with himself not to put his hands on Stiles' throat and choke him to death.

  
Stiles stopped his endless blabbing and looked at the man, surprised.

It worked...? he was not sure he heard the man correctly. 

“Really? What do you mean?” He was rightfully suspicious.

Derek took all the time in the world to finish his noodles, sucking in the soup loudly. He then looked at Stiles again. 

“Can you shut up for a minute?” 

Ok... it's not the answer Stiles expected. The boy crossed his arms and sank down in his chair, looking like a 12-year-old who had just been grounded. 

Derek got up and threw his empty cup away, then he turned back and took Stiles' one as well, even though the boy wasn't done with his dinner – he didn't look like he was going to finish it anymore anyway, too busy being all pouty and angry at Derek. 

The hitman started cleaning the table and didn't even made a move to acknowledge the boy's mood. Stiles finally decided he had enough and spoke up to make his pouty presence noticed.

“where are we going? Are we going shopping? Even if we go out shopping, I don't have money, like I said, I don't have anything!" he reminded, once again in his snobbish way. 

Derek glanced at him and said nothing, then moved to sit on the couch with his laptop. Stiles followed him with his eyes, a little angry, and then a sudden thought hit him. He jumped on the chair and raised his eyebrow in surprise.

“Do you mean you're gonna pay for everything?!” he exclaimed, now full of joy and gratefulness.

Derek wasn't gonna give him that satisfaction though. It wasn't like him to do things like that and he clearly wasn't gonna say it aloud. 

  
“Shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is killing me!! 😣


	5. Chapter 5

“We have to go in there! And in there! And there too!” Stiles chirped happily while turning around and around to point at all the shop windows.

He felt like it had been ages since he last went shopping and he was even more excited because not having anything meant he get to buy everything all over again.

He was barely aware of Derek's dark presence behind him, hands in his pockets, expression annoyed , following Stiles with no interest whatsoever in what they were going to do.

His only interest was in keeping an eye out for anyone who could look like a potential member of the organization. He knew they had spies everywhere, and basically anyone around them, even the most innocent of faces, could be the enemy.

With this thought in mind he looked around maybe for the hundredth time since they had left the house. 

He had a gun with him but if they really were to be attacked, it wouldn't be enough. 

Derek knew he couldn't keep the kid caged in his room forever and he didn't want to end up sitting in his house like that either, but still he couldn't help but wish this 'shopping afternoon' nightmare would end soon. 

Somewhere really deep inside him, in a place where his cold rationality didn't have total control over his heart, he was somewhat afraid he wouldn't be able to protect the boy if something bad bound to happen.

When he turned his gaze to the sidewalk again, Stiles was not by his side anymore. 

“Shit,” he clenched his teeth and looked around, trying to keep his usual calmness and think rationally. 

There was the usual sea of people in the shopping center of NY and it was making his job only harder. He kept looking for any sign of distress and eventually, he saw a head full of brown hair jumping and squealing in front of a shop window. Derek recognized those ridiculous sounds. 

“Ah! Derek! Derek!!” Stiles called out, enthusiastically waving at him and gesturing for him to get closer.

Derek had to take a deep breath to keep his anger at bay. He approached the boy and squeezed his arm, pulling him near so that he could whisper in his ear. 

“Don't call out my name in public. Do you want to get us killed, boy?” he whispered in a low tone, causing Stiles to shiver – not exactly out of fear. 

“Derek, you worry too much! No one could find us in this crowd!” Stiles smiled, getting more and more used to Derek's rough ways. 

Derek wasn't as sure. It's been more than a week since he got any intel on the enemy and his demons were starting to raise again inside him.

That noisy kid wasn't helping at all. 

“I'm glad you're so relaxed. Of course, being you so experienced, I'm sure I can take your words for gold in situations like this one.” He sneered, his sarcastic tone hitting Stiles' pride big time. But he didn't have any witty comeback for the man.

Derek kept glaring and the kid just crossed his arms and pouted.  
Derek was starting to think it was all he was actually capable of. 

“I know I'm not a super-killer or a spy or anything - but! Come on! They can't be on us 24/7!” Stiles said with wide eyes, truly believing in his own naïve words. 

For Derek, it was too much. He wasn't even sure if he found the statement more funny or more irritating. Either ways, there was no point in discussing that matter with an inexperienced kid.

Derek just took a deep breath and sighed. 

“Let's just go inside,” he cut short, pushing the boy ahead with a finger on his shoulder. 

Stiles was bewildered. He glanced back with bambi eyes. “Are you sure?! It's Gucci!” 

“Whatever” Derek answered, already looking around the shop with an annoyed face. 

Stiles wanted to run around and smell the richness he was once used to, but instead turned around to look at Derek with a suspicious look on his face.   
“Just exactly how rich _are_ you?” He curiously asked. 

Derek pressed his index finger on the kid's forehead and pushed him back with a grin. “Go and buy whatever.” 

Stiles didn't need any more permissions, to be honest.

  
_...._...._

  
“I think I get why you do what you do, now,” Stiles exclaimed as they were leaving the shop, multiple heavy bags full of fashion wonders in his hand. 

Back there, Derek had paid for everything without even blinking and Stiles still couldn't believe that.

“What?” The man asked, not looking much interested in whatever Stiles was about to say though.

They were strolling down the fashion district side by side and Stiles couldn't help but wonder if people around them thought they were a couple.

“I mean, you must have a lot of money, isn't that the reason why you do... those things?” He couldn't manage to say the word 'killings' or 'murders', not even if they were not within any hearing range.

Derek kept walking, looking straight ahead.

“I don't do it for money,” he said at length.

Stiles was taken aback. “Why, then?”

Derek turned to look him in the eyes and smiled the most disturbing smile.

“Because I like it.”

  
Stiles widened his eyes and kept his mouth shut after that. He had just got another hint of how ruthless Derek must have been and he was scared. 

Derek could feel the fear radiating from the kid in waves. His face was scrunched up like Derek threatened to kill a puppy. 

He just wanted to scare the kid a little but not to that extent.

People around them started noticing the boy's abrupt mood change and Derek needed to fix this.

He sighed for the millionth time that afternoon and stopped in front of an ice-cream stand.

“Are you hungry?”

He had the feeling that Stiles was just like a child – not that he was any expert at dealing with children, but he knew they had simple minds and Derek knew how to be manipulative. 

Stiles looked at the stand and immediately nodded, smiling. His expression changing from sad to radiant comically.

_How can he be so naïve_ , Derek wondered, _he's never gonna be safe in this world._

He let Stiles choose the flavors he preferred and watched while the kid enjoyed his ice-cream with a peaceful expression on his face. 

“I never did this with my husband,” Stiles mused after a while, a sad smile on his face while they kept walking down the avenue. Derek kept silent. 

“He wasn't the type to do this kind of things. We barely went to dates and they were mostly dinner in some expensive restaurant. Exciting, in the beginning, but sad after a while.” Stiles went on. He couldn't stop himself from expressing his thoughts out loud to an almost stranger. Maybe because he knew Derek wouldn't judge him.

“Well you're surely not the type to do this either and yet, we're here.” He laughed. “We kinda look like a couple, it could be a good cover to set our enemies on the wrong track.” Stiles tried to lighten the mood. 

But Derek stiffened a bit. He felt like they were entering a minefield with that topic. 

Stiles noticed it right away and laughed. “I'm just _joking_! Don't make that face...” 

  
“I'm not making any face,” the hitman replied right away. He had been training for years in order to learn how to keep any expression out of his features. 

“Still, I can see you're all tensed up now,” Stiles grinned. “Is the 'couple' topic a taboo? I was just suggesting it could be useful...” he wiggled his eyebrows and made a quick move to hurry by the man's side. A moment later they were arm in arm. 

“...if we just walk like this, don't we look like the perfect couple?” He laughed moving their interlocked hand back and forth. 

Derek gave him a death glare. 

“Don't..” he freed himself from the lock and put some space between them. 

“You seem to forget your limits.” 

  
Stiles pouted and said nothing for a while, enjoying his ice-cream. He noticed how Derek kept looking around by the way his pupils were moving non-stop, but he wasn't worried. He truly believed Derek was exaggerating. 

  
New York was such a huge city.

_What could possibly happen during these few hours_?

_...._...._

“Can we stop by that one?” Stiles asked, eyeing one of his favorite stores. It wasn't a famous brand, just an average clothing shop that probably didn't have many design options either. But he loved how comfy their clothes were.

They had more than enough bags already. The boy had insisted that they get some grocery shopping done since their fridge was always empty and he was tired of eating instant ramen.

  
Derek didn't look much amused by the fact that Stiles had called his fridge “theirs”, like he somehow owned the place, but, he couldn't deny they needed to get some supplies. 

  
So now he had to carry two heavy bags while Stiles just carried his shopping bags full of – from the hitman's point of view – useless stuff.

However, he just nodded at the boy's new request, barely listening to his words. 

The Truth was, he was becoming less and less relaxed by the second.

He could sense something was wrong. Derek wished he was wrong about this feeling but his senses never failed him. That's why he was on full alert mode.

He looked around again and noticed a man on the corner of the street, looking straight at them. He looked like the average tourist, but he had black sunglasses and a baseball hat that made it hard to tell the features apart.   
He could be a no one. Or he could be one of Kevin Ito's men. 

  
Derek stiffened and pushed Stiles towards the shop. 

“Go inside.” 

Stiles complained a bit at the barked out order but since it was him who wanted to go there in the first place, he went inside and started wandering around, picking up some clothes before going to the changing room.

“Just wait. Don't go and leave me here!” he shouted in the most spoiled way at Derek, who was waiting outside. 

Maybe the man would have sneered at that, if it was another situation. He noticed a couch but didn't sit. He had to keep the situation under control.

He could hear Stiles humming from inside the changing room, he was so oblivious to everything. But then again, why should it be otherwise? The kid knew nothing about his job, or about how dangerous their enemies really were. 

It was Derek's duty to make sure the boy wouldn't have to worry about anything.

Derek's eyes widened a little bit at that thought. 

_His duty? What the fuck,_ he thought, shaking that absurdity out of his head. He had no duty towards that kid. Instead, _that kid_ owned him too many favors already.

“Tsk,” he turned around, lost in his thoughts, and noticed a man entering the shop through the front door. It was him. The tourist.

Derek watched silently as the other man looked around, as if he was searching for someone. 

Shit, it's happening. He turned back and quickly entered the changing room Stiles was in. The boy only had a t-shirt and his underwear on and almost screamed when he saw Derek rushing inside. 

“W-what are you doing?!” he cried, blushing so hard his whole face looked like a tomato. 

Derek covered his mouth with one hand and pressed him against the wall.   
“Ssh,” he instructed, his gaze locked to the little curtain that's hiding them from the view.

  
Derek was almost certain the man hadn't seen him, but he waited a bit, just to make it sure.

He then looked at Stiles, whose cheeks were still visibly red. Derek noticed he was still half naked and tried not pay much attention to the soft skin of those bare legs brushing against his own. 

He couldn't feel it through his clothes anyway, and his first priority was get them out of there. 

“Listen,” he began, looking straight in the kid's blue eyes to make sure Stiles could understand the seriousness of the situation. 

“There's a back door in this shop. It's just beside the changing rooms. You get out of here and go straight to that door without looking back. Try to look calm and natural. Once out, you have to get as far away as possible from here. Do you understand?” 

Stiles widened his eyes and nodded slightly. He looked scared, so Derek removed his hand from the boy's mouth.

“What's happening? You're coming with me, right?” Stiles asked, panicking. He didn't know much, but he knew there's no way he could do it without Derek. 

Derek could read the fear in his eyes, so he elaborated.  
“They're here. First I have to make sure we won't be followed.” 

He stepped back to give the boy some space. Stiles tried to cover himself up with some clothes.

“W-what does it mean? I don't want to go alone... I can't!”

“Whatever you do, don't go back to the house. ” Derek explained. “Not for a couple of hours at least. I will catch up to you once I'm done.” 

_Don't worry_ , was what Stiles chose to hear in all those words Derek said.  
_I'm not leaving you alone._

  
Derek peeked out of the changing room and saw the man was still standing near the entrance. He was probably waiting for them to exit the shop, so he could follow them out. The good thing was he couldn't probably notice their movements from there. 

“Okay, let's go,” Derek said, dragging Stiles out of the small room. The boy had put on his old clothes back just in time and followed the hitman towards the back door. 

Derek let him out first, then turned around to check the man again. He was looking back at them now. 

“Shit, he saw us,” he whispered through gritted teeth. He didn't want to start shooting in the middle of a crowded shop and he didn't know how many of Kevin Ito's men were on them.

Stiles was already out in the narrow alley behind the shop. He looked back at Derek, watching him as he rushed out of the shop.   
Maybe, in the end, he decided to come with Stiles.

He felt more relaxed immediately . 

“What's wrong? Are they on us?” Stiles asked frantically, but Derek just reached for his arm and started dragging him away. 

“Run!”

“Wha-” before he could even finish the question, he heard a low hiss and the next second a bullet barely missed his cheek. 

Stiles clenched his teeth, trying to suppress a scream , and willed his legs to run faster. 

“Sons of a bitch” he heard Derek saying, as the sound of steps behind them became louder and louder. 

They didn't know how many men were chasing them and frankly it didn't matter.   
All their efforts were put into a desperate run. No time to look back. 

They passed by a block of buildings, then another, and again another one. They were running through the most crowded centers, hoping to loose the killers in the crowd behind. 

  
Stiles didn't know when exactly had happened, but at some point he found himself holding onto Derek's hand very tightly. The hitman was guiding him through a very mind-twisting path in the midst of the big city streets and alleys. 

After ten minutes or maybe an hour – Stiles couldn't really tell – they finally stopped in a narrow street, out of breath. The area was secluded and felt relatively safe.

“We... we made it...” Stiles panted, It felt like there was nothing on Earth better than the oxygen he was breathing at that moment.

Derek was breathless as well, but way less relaxed. He kept an eye on the end of the street, like he was expecting to see those men turning around the corner at any moment. 

_and he was right_.

  
“Fuck” Derek growled, as he heard the sound of steps and voices approaching. 

He dragged Stiles in a side alley and gestured for him to be quiet. When Stiles moved to hide down in a corner, Derek crouched down with him as well. 

Stiles curled up against the wall and in Derek's arms since the man was practically hugging him in an attempt to cover both of them with his black jacket. He was trying to make themselves less visible from the main street.

“Stay silent.” Derek's hot breath was hitting his cheeks and Stiles felt himself blushing again, despite the dangerous situation. 

Derek's body was really warm, the opposite of his usual cold attitude. Stiles found himself surprised for even thinking about the hitman like that, but he was scared to death and if he didn't want to pass out he had to focus on something else apart from the current situation. 

  
He tried to look at the hitman more closely. He was a handsome man, no doubt.   
A manly face, perfect features, dazzling eyes and swollen lips. 

Those perfect muscles and dark stubble too, Stiles remembered with slight embarassment. One would say he could be a model instead of a hitman. 

_It felt so good to be in his arms_.

Stiles started wishing he could stay like that a bit longer, and felt guilty about it. 

He wasn't supposed to have that kind of feelings for the man. He had a husband, he was married for two years, hell, he was legally still married as far as he knew and it just didn't feel right. 

His life was so fucked up, he couldn't just develop a crush for a cold blooded killer. 

Derek was protecting him even though he didn't own him anything. He was hiding him, giving him a place to stay, food, clothes, whatever Stiles had asked for, and even now he was risking his life for him. 

Thinking about all the things Derek had already done for him, Stiles felt his heart beating a bit faster. He was lost.

Maybe it was wrong for him to feel like that, but he couldn't help it.

A moment later, they heard the infamous steps passing by the alley and moving forward, until they couldn't hear them anymore. 

They were safe, _for now_.

Stiles felt cold as soon as Derek got away from him, removing his arms from around his body and standing up. 

“We can go back now”

  
Stiles stood up as well, brushing the dirt off his clothes and following Derek back to the main street. 

They were far from their little house and Stiles' legs felt sore, but he didn't complain. He was still alive, and that was kind of enough for the day.

“Thank you,” he murmured, as they were walking back down the street where they parked the bike.

Derek just looked at him and the boy blushed a little. 

“Thank you for not leaving me alone,” he went on. “And for saving me... again.” 

  
Derek looked bored. 

“Will you ever shut up?” 

Stiles made a face and pouted. “Fine! never mind, I take it all back!...” He started walking faster and ahead of the hitman, playing the offended diva part he could put up so well. 

He never saw the grin that had grown on Derek's lips. 

  
_...._...._

Later that day, they were back in the living room, tired and sore. 

Derek had explained how those men were probably trying to capture them alive or wounded, but not dead. He had the feeling they didn't want to kill them, not on the spot at least. Because they had plenty of scope to shoot them both.

  
Stiles couldn't really follow all his master-assassin-reasoning, and he was too tired to do it anyway. 

“Ugh, I haven't run like that in years... The only thing I did lately were jogging but it's a totally different thing,” he was whining, while massaging his own feet on the couch. 

Derek said nothing and went straight into his room; his was tired and all he could wish for was to get rid of his clothes, take a shower and eat a good meal.

That reminded him, they had left all their shopping bags back there at the shop.

He groaned loudly and put on his jacket again, heading for the door. 

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked with wide eyes, his voice a pitch or two higher than usual.

Derek found it almost funny how he could detect his fear just from his tone. He glanced at the boy and left without a word. 

A moment later Stiles heard the sound of the engine coming from Derek's bike and rushed to the window, watching him leave to go who-knew-where.   
Stiles was worried if he's going back to search for those men.

  
Well, he didn't have to worry much longer, cause less than an hour later Derek walked through the door again, his hands full of the shopping bags.

“Oh!” Stiles exclaimed, “you found them!”

He had almost forgotten about the shopping after all that had happened earlier that day.

“No,” Derek put the bags on the kitchen table. “I had to buy everything all over again.” 

Stiles' face fell. Of course someone had seen the Gucci bags and had stolen everything. 

So naïve of him to think that they would still be able to find their shopping bags after so much time had passed.

He approached and started fumbling through the bags. Derek managed to get almost everything, except for some of the branded goods. But those were a limited edition and Stiles knew there weren't doubles so it was understandable. 

And anyways, why would Derek care about his clothes? It was already too much that he had agreed to buy him all that stuff in the first place.

Now he bought him all those stuffs again. That was way more than what Stiles expected.

There was one last bag that didn't look like it contained food or such. Stiles opened it and couldn't help his bewilderment when he noticed there were all the clothes he had tried out in the last shop, his favorite one.

“What...” 

Derek looked down at the clothes and then back at Stiles again. 

“You said you needed clothes.” He simply said, like that explained how Derek knew exactly which clothes Stiles had chosen and the fact that he actually spent time and money to find and buy them. 

Stiles looked up to meet Derek's eyes. He felt overwhelmed with emotions. In that moment he was sure he wanted to hug the hitman, as absurd as it sounded. 

  
But also in that exact moment Derek's laptop started to make weird beeps. Derek just picked it up and disappeared in his room without a word.

Stiles sighed and took all the time in the world to place the grocery items in their right places. 

Their fridge was full now, and he thought he could finally cook something for dinner that wasn't ramen that night. 

He wondered if Derek usually cooked when he was living alone or he just bought takeout . 

Stiles had always found the idea of men cooking very sexy, but he quickly got the thought out of his head. It was not the time.

He went to the little bathroom at the end of the small corridor – there were two, one was in Derek's room – and decided he was gonna use one of the empty shelves as his wardrobe, where he put all his new clothes, carefully folded. 

Once he was done, he went back to the kitchen, just in time to see Derek emerging from his dark room. 

The man looked at him and Stiles noticed how his eyes looked even colder than before.

“Did something happen...?” Stiles asked before he could stop himself, his voice was wavering a little.

The man's stare was kinda scary. 

Derek looked away. 

  
“I'm leaving.” He said. 

  
“I got a _job_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kinda cute!😜


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles sat curled up on the sofa in his brand new red sweater with a book, he was comfortable. At least he didn't have to borrow Derek's clothes now. The all black look may suit Derek, but it wasn't really Stiles' colour.

He thought about the shopping incident again and sighed, putting the book aside. Anton Chekhov's writing was really fascinating, and he had always loved reading his works when he was still in school, but now he couldn't really focus on anything. 

Anything but Derek's absence.

He looked back at the book, the book he had begged Derek to buy for him with a “ _at least I'll have something to do while I'm locked up in here.”_ and puppy dog eyes. 

If the clock wasn't lying, it was almost 5pm, which meant Derek had left eight hours, thirty minutes and twenty something seconds earlier. 

Stiles realized he had been counting the time and mentally slapped himself. It was gonna be a long long weekend. 

He laid down on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, and thought about what Derek had told him that morning. 

  
_...._...._

8 hours, 30 minutes and around 20 seconds earlier- 

Stiles swallowed the lump inside his throat for maybe the tenth time in those brief 5 minutes.

That morning he woke up to some weird sounds in the kitchen. Even though he wasn't a light sleeper, the paranoia of the recent events were making it hard for him to get some decent sleep. 

When he opened his eyes, he found Derek fumbling with that black bag of his on the table, dressed in a pair of loose black trousers, black boots, a black t-shirt and a black bulletproof vest.

_Black clothes, black stare, black soul._

His toned arms were exposed as well as his tattoos: he had one bicep completely covered in intricate design while the other was bare.

Stiles had been fantasizing a bit about Derek's tattoos since day one, but that morning, seeing him dressed up like that, his fantasies were getting even wilder. He blushed a little and tried to clear his head.

“You're awake,” Derek said. “I'm leaving.”

Stiles rubbed his eyes to get rid of the lingering blurriness and quickly got up, trying to ignore the fact that Derek was leaving without even saying goodbye to him. 

  
“W-when are you coming back? What do I do?” he asked, his voice still dry from the sleep.

Derek glanced at him sideways and closed the zip of his bag. Stiles noticed his black leather gloves, the same he was wearing that day at the villa. 

The thought finally hit Stiles, 

Derek was really going away for one of his jobs, which meant there's a possibility that he may never come back.

“Do you think I'm that mediocre?” Stiles snapped out of his thoughts and looked puzzled at the man's sudden question.

“W-what?”

“I'll be back by Monday.” Derek affirmed, like there was no doubt at all.

“Don't even hope otherwise,” he added with a grin. 

Stiles was shocked. That man seemed to be reading his mind.

“How do you- I don't! - I'm-! I am not hoping for such a thing!” 

Derek just grinned more and handed him a cellphone. Stiles took it with wide eyes. Derek had told him before he couldn't keep a phone because there's a chance it could be tracked. 

“Wha-..What is this?”

“This phone is untraceable,” Derek explained, looking straight into Stiles' eyes with that serious expression he always had when he wanted the boy to listen to him very carefully.

“You can call me- Only if you're having an emergency. Not in any other case. Just for emergencies, got it?” Derek emphasised.

  
“What kind of emergencies?” the boy asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“If you're dying, for example,” Derek grinned. “That would be an emergency.”

Stiles swallowed hard and nodded, holding the cellphone to his chest like it was made of gold.

“B-but even then, what can you do if you're not in New York, o-or even in America?” He asked, panicking a little at the thought he could be attacked at any time and Derek wouldn't be there.

  
“You're safe as long as you stay in this house,” the man said those words with such surety like there was absolutely no way Stiles would get attacked here, ever. 

“Even if I'm not here, I have...” Derek hold himself back, not sure whether he should tell that much to the boy or not. The less he knew about his world, the better.

So, he cut short, saying, “Just stay here and don't go out in the mean time.”

Stiles didn't have much choice other than to trust this cold-blooded killer. He nodded and watched as Derek took his bag and headed to the door.

“C...”

**Come back safe** , he thought, but couldn't manage to voice it out loud. 

He didn't want to sound cheesy and he wasn't sure whether he should hope for the well-being of a man who wouldn't think twice before killing him.

He carefully chose the words, saying, “See you, then.” in an indifferent tone.

Derek glanced at him one last time before walking out of the door.

  
_...._...._

  
The fridge was more than full, another reminder that Derek was not there. Who would've guessed the man could eat that much?

Stiles had asked him to get some extra food since he wouldn't be able to go out alone during that weekend. The older man had agreed – silently, as always – and did some extra shopping before leaving. 

The young man was in no mood for cooking so he just went for instant noodles once again. 

He sat alone at the table, looked around the empty room and couldn't help the sad smile that grew on his lips. It was just like his old life. Feeling lonely, eating alone because his husband was always out working or... well, that's what Stiles used to believe, but at this point he wasn't sure of anything anymore. 

The hitman's presence, though silent and dark, was still a presence nonetheless. But his absence had a weight Stiles didn't expect. He hadn't quite realize how abandoned he felt back then. 

He didn't know what was worst though, because Whenever his husband would stay at home, he would be either beating him up or doing even more deplorable things to him. 

He shivered, eyes automatically looking at his jacket on the couch. His mind went back to that crazy shopping day with the hitman. He remembered Derek's frown when Stiles had said he need to buy something at the drugstore. 

He had asked the man to wait outside. 

Luckily he always kept his recent prescriptions taped to the medicine bottle for emergencies.

So with some sweet-talk to earn the pharmacist's trust he managed to buy the prescribed pills. Derek never asked what he was doing in there when he came out though.

Stiles had kept the new bottle in the bathroom cabinet well hidden.   
Some were kept inside his pockets as always.

He doubted Derek would care about what he he's up to anyways as long as Stiles stayed out of his way.   
He was probably already thinking Stiles was just some average fragile boy who needed medicine for a cold or a headache, nothing extreme.

Stiles wished it was that simple. How great it would be if his problems were that ordinary.

He scoffed and focused on eating his noodles, then took one of his pills and tried to relax.

  
Nothing was gonna happen. Derek assured him he would be safe as long as he stayed there, and he believed him. There wasn't much he could do about it anyways.

He laid on his bed in the living room. Earlier he moved the futon a little so he could watch the stars out of the large windows.   
The buildings surrounding them were tall but he still could see a little sliver of the night sky and it made him unexplainably happy. 

He wondered where Derek was at that exact moment. Maybe somewhere in America, or maybe somewhere in the world. He sighed a little and closed his eyes, thinking of a certain hitman with a rough voice and smouldering gaze.

  
_...._...._

Derek came back to his hotel room late at night (or maybe it was early in the morning). 

He was tired, though his appearance was as immaculate as always. The first part of his job was done, he thought as he started taking of the constricting clothes and left then carelessly on the floor. He headed to the bathroom first. 

Though he was a neat freak, he decided cleaning up could wait. For now, a hot shower was all he needed. He stood naked under the shower, hot streams of water cascading down his back. 

He ran a hand through his soaking hair and placed it on the white tiled wall in front of him. 

Dirt and blood kept washing away from his skin, the water turning red at his feet. 

He smiled at the sight, knowing most of that blood wasn't his.

It was kinda arousing in a way, the adrenalin rush, the feeling washing over him when he shot those men one by one in that dingy club.

Another assignment executed perfectly. It was just what he needed to bring some balance back in his mind. 

  
Just as expected, his body was reacting to all the excitement, his cock hardening rapidly.   
He looked down almost annoyed before closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the cold wall. 

He wasn't gonna take care of it. He barely did anyway, he preferred other ways to get himself off. Smashing someone's head against a wall until blood covered everything, for example,....  
Or a hot body, writhing in pleasure against his own, when he was feeling more like it. 

He tried to remember the face of his last sexual partner but it was useless. He never paid attention to the whores he picked up anyway.

  
He relaxed a bit under the flow, letting it soothe his sore muscles some more. He got out when the water started to get cold, a towel wrapped around his hips as he left wet trails all over the floor. 

His phone was beeping when he came back in the room. It was a message.

Rubbing his hair with a towel, he took the phone with his free hand and checked the text.   
It was from Jackson.

' **He's safe'**

Derek felt something very similar to relief running through him. Of course he didn't leave the boy completely by himself at a time like that. Probably all the criminals in New York were haunting him down and even if Stiles really stayed home the whole weekend, the situation still required some extra measures. 

The boy couldn't even imagine how many people were there, checking on him, keeping him safe, during the days Derek was absent. 

Derek had some good “colleagues” in the field, well... by colleagues he meant people who owned him a big time. 

He also had some so-called *friends*, Jackson could be considered one of them. He was a hitman, just like Derek. They had worked together for some time, then went separate ways, but were still in contact. He was one of the people Derek could really count on.

  
Derek left his cellphone on the table and put on a pair of loose trousers with his usual white wifebeater. He took out the cigarettes and lit one, staring at the bright city lights from the hotel window.

One more day and then he could go back. He still had to do some cleaning up, covering his trail and such.

He never felt any homesickness when he had to stay away for jobs before. He could adapt very easily. That little house he called home wasn't any special.

But now, he couldn't say the same. He had someone waiting for him, needing him to come back. Even though that someone didn't really have any choices other than to depend on Derek, it still filled him with something akin to longing.

It was a weird feeling. 

He smoked his cigarette and slowly released the smoke in the air. Even though his eyes were fixed on the tall buildings and sparkling lights, he wasn't really seeing anything, his mind was still roaming around a small room with a certain kid in it.

  
_...._...._

  
It was almost 3 a.m when the loud siren of a police patrol passing through the neighborhood sliced through the silence of the night. 

Stiles jerked awake at the sudden noice, heart beating fast and palms sweating. He was just having a nightmare and it was hard to distinguish dreams from reality.

– he dreamt of his husband, guns and those evil men coming to take him away.

“De-Der....” he croaked, his voice weak and hoarse.   
Then he remembered Derek was not there. He wasn't there to protect Stiles if something went wrong. 

Panicking hard, he got up frantically to check if the front door was locked. He relaxed a bit and went back to the kitchen.

  
After gulping down a glass of water, he finally managed to get a conscious hold of the reality.

Stiles listened to the sounds of the city. New York city was never asleep, he mused.

There was music blasting from somewhere, the sound of cars honking and people chatting was slowly becoming unbearable to his sleep deprived mind.  
Stiles wondered how he had managed to fall asleep through that.

He knew he couldn't go back to sleep now.  
At times like that, back when he had a _normal_ life, he would text some friend or scroll through the social media a bit until sleep came kicking back again.

But he couldn't contact any of his friends now. Hell, he didn't even have a cellphone, except the little burner phone Derek left for him. It didn't even have any games in it. But....

Stiles found the cellphone on the couch. He took it, dumbly checking if there were messages from Derek. 

Of course not... Derek was totally not the type to chat and also he said that the phone was only for emergencies.

He wondered how angry Derek would get if he texted him without any reason. He was deadly serious when he explained the rules for that cellphone. 

Stiles paced back and forth clutching the phone tightly in his hands, feeling frustrated and alone. It reminded him of all the nights he spent alone in the villa and Stiles hated it. 

  
He looked up from the floor and glanced at the half opened door of Derek's bedroom.

Probably the worst of ideas popped into his mind. 

He took the cellphone, a book and his pillow and entered Derek's room. It was dark and warm, probably because it was a small room. It was also more quiet, the noises and the loud music sounded muffled from there.

Stiles smiled a little and thought no one ever would know if he slept there for only one night. 

Derek wouldn't be back until Monday anyway.

He laid on the hitman's bed, curling up on his side and looked at the lit cellphone screen glowing in the dark. 

He wondered if Derek was okay, if the job was going well, if he was hurt.   
If he was sleeping on the other side of the world or just in the nearest city. 

If he was, for any reason, thinking about Stiles even it's just for once. 

Stiles blushed a bit at that and opened the message option.   
He could deal with an angry Derek later (he was so naïve for thinking that, but he really had no idea), and carefully typed his message to this certain 'D' – it was the only contact saved in that cellphone, must have been Derek's number. 

He pressed Send and squealed a little, regretting all his life choices in that very moment. 

Would he read the message ? Would he reply to Stiles? Would he get angry that Stiles broke the rule?

A moment later he saw the double blue tick indicating that 'D' had read the message and his heart started beating fast again. 

Stiles gnawed at his lips as he waited for an answer, a call, even if it's an angry one, it didn't matter. 

Oddly he found himself wanting to hear the man's voice. Just that. To hear that rough voice and know that he was okay, wherever he was. That he was gonna come back to this little home and complain about Stiles talking too much, but still sitting down in front of Stiles at the kitchen table to eat instant ramen together. 

Stiles fell asleep ten minutes later. There was no new messages on his phone, but he had a smile on his lips. 

  
Derek's scent surrounded him and maybe that was enough to keep the bad dreams at bay. 

  
_...._...._

  
In the hotel room far away from that little house, another phone was beeping loudly, a new message flashing on the screen. 

Derek stopped cleaning his gun abruptly as he felt something tightening in his throat.

He had more than one phone, each of them for a different purpose. 

That sound... was coming from the phone connected to the one he had left for the kid. 

His mind started racing. 

It was Stiles; he specifically told Stiles to use that phone for emergencies; Stiles was in danger. 

He briefly recalled the conversation they had the other day.

* “ _What kind of emergencies?”_

_“If you're dying for example”_ *

  
Derek got up and rushed to the phone, his mind already calculating the fastest route to go back to New York.

Why did the kid send him a message if he was in danger? Why didn't he call? Was he hurt? Was he unable to even talk on the phone? Did they took him somewhere? Was that a goodbye message? Was he already dead? 

  
Jackson had told him the kid was safe just a few hours ago!

  
Derek's limbs were cold and his face was frozen as He opened the message. 

He stared at the words for a long moment, his breath coming out in puffs.

  
“...This fucking kid!” he growled, and threw the phone on the bed.   
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

Derek could feel his whole body relaxing and seriously hated the feeling.   
He didn't want to feel like that just because of that troublesome kid. 

He lit another cigarette and went back to the window, trying to smoke the anger away. But deep down, in his heart, he was relieved nothing had happened to the boy. 

He tried to suppress the feeling with all his might. Still, those two words written in that message somehow managed to echo in his mind for the whole night.

  
' **Goodnight Derek**.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Feelings!😱


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!! : kinda explicit Non-con stuff in this chapter.

Stiles woke up to the familiar smell of coffee and cigarettes, but it wasn't unpleasant. 

He slowly got up and squint his eyes as the morning sunlight fell on his face through the cracks of the rolling shutters of the window. He smiled a little and hurried to made the bed. 

The flat was silent as always and Stiles didn't think twice before opening the door to enter the living room, but froze on the his steps. He stood near the doorway thoroughly surprised, eyes wide. 

Derek was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him. He had his back on Stiles as he kept on smoking cigarettes.

  
Stiles noticed his black bag on the floor and his jacket on the couch. It looked like he had just came back. That was when Stiles realized it was already Monday and he had slept in Derek's room again that night, though the man had been pretty clear about the rules. 

Stiles gulped nervously. He broke another rule and he was sure Derek wouldn't be very pleased.

“Are you going to stand there forever?” 

Stiles looked at Derek's large shoulders, his back only covered by the usual white wife-beater, golden skin underneath.

Stiles couldn't see his face but his rough voice didn't sound angry.

He slowly stepped out of the room and sat at the kitchen table in front of the man, playing with the strings of his pajama pants not yet ready to face the hitman. 

After a few moments of total silence he found enough courage to look up.

  
Derek was already staring at him with his intense gaze, taking puffs from his cigarette without saying anything. He looked somehow upset and Stiles felt uneasy.

“I'm-I'm sorry... I had some problems sleeping and...” 

Derek didn't want to hear his excuses. 

“Do you think I care about any of that? You knew the rules,” 

Cigarette hanging from his lips, he got up and took his cup of coffee away, emptying it in the sink. 

“Next time I'm gonna kick you out of bed, or worse.” 

He was trying to keep calm but he was feeling more and more frustrated by the second. His 'jobs' usually were enough to calm him down and keep his anger under control for at least a couple of days, long enough to get another job at least, but this time it was different. 

Stiles ignoring the rules about the phone annoyed him to the core. And the fact that his goodnight text actually hadn't bothered him at all, bothered him even more. He felt like he was starting to get weak, letting his emotions in the way, and this wasn't acceptable.

Hell, he barely had any emotion in years and he was proud of it. Those kind of things were dangerous for his job. 

  
He slammed one hand on the counter and passed a hand through his black hair. 

“And what the fuck were you thinking ? by the way?” he turned around to face Stiles and he was madly angry all of a sudden. 

Stiles instinctively held back his breath, looking shocked and scared. He had never seen Derek like that. His eyes were as sharp as a knife and the veins on his neck were visible. 

“I told you to use that phone only for emergencies, didn't I?” He was practically growling as he slammed both hands on the table, making Stiles jump on his chair. 

“Do you think this is a fucking joke, boy?”

  
Stiles felt on the verge of tears. He didn't understand what he did wrong. Yes, Derek had told him the rules for the phone but he had only send an innocent message. 

He started panicking. “I'm- I'm sorry... I didn't—”

Derek gripped his chin with one hand and forced him to keep his gaze on his face. 

“I don't give a fuck about your excuses. I was dumb enough for trying to keep you alive, and not only you're a useless frightened kid, but you also don't give a fuck about what I tell you. Don't fucking underestimate me, boy. Do you think I can't hurt you? Do you think I can't kill you right in this moment if I want?!”

Derek's hand was tight around Stiles' face and his cheeks started feeling numb where the hitman was pressing his fingertips. He could barely speak and he didn't dare to try. 

  
He just looked in Derek's eyes, confused by the sudden burst of rage.

Derek was reminding him of another man who used to treat him like that and his whole body started shaking.

  
_A hand roughly pushed his head further into the pillow. He could barely breathe and tried one more time to free himself, getting another slap in the face as the consequence for his rebellion._

_“How many times do I need to tell you to stop acting like a little bitch? We both know how much of a whore you are. This is no good for you, you know that, right Stiles?”_

_Stiles swallowed through his tears and slightly nodded. His hands were tied behind his back, he couldn't move even if he wanted to._

_He had kicked and screamed and rolled around trying to escape so many times he had lost count._

_It never worked, the man always won in the end. He was stronger and intimidating, the way he was always towering over him had made Stiles tremble in excitement, when their relationship was still at it's first stage, and in fear, after a while._

_His husband had always been the violent type in bed. He had done things and he would say things that Stiles didn't really appreciate, but before he would also cuddle him and tell him how much he loved him after each violent outburst._

_And the boy had always been naïve enough to think there was a good side to his husband and that side was worth all the rest._

_But it wasn't. It wasn't. With time, violence had increased and cuddles had disappeared. But it was already too late. Stiles didn't know how to get out of that abusive relationship. He couldn't tell anyone, he was scared of the consequences._

_Kevin always reminded him what could happen to him if he ever spoke to anyone about what happened in between the four walls of their bedroom._

  
_He was a powerful man – Stiles didn't know just how powerful he was , at the time, but he knew he was – and Stiles was just out of high school, free spirited, with a dream and a big heart._

_A big heart that was ruining him._

  
_“You're gonna love it, right?” he heard the man saying before feeling the usual piercing pain spreading through his lower abdomen._

_He bit his lips and felt the metallic flavor invading his mouth as usual._

_He was sobbing silently, his body kept rubbing against the sheets as the man's thrusts were pushing him back and forth._

_He felt his skin getting irritated by the movement. He wasn't even the least bit aroused but he knew no one would care about his pleasure anyway._

_“Tell me how much you love it,” he heard the man whispering into his ear, his breath smelling like alcohol and something else he couldn't define._

  
_Stiles said nothing, eyes closed and half of his face buried in the pillow. His wrists were hurting because they were tied together too tightly._

  
_His whole body was hurting and he was frantically clenching his anal muscles hoping that it would make the man come sooner. He couldn't bare that torture for much longer._

_A hand suddenly slapped his face, then strong fingers were pressed around his chin, forcing him to look behind his shoulder, in the most uncomfortable position._

_Kevin was looking him dead in the eye, a dark grin on his lips._

_“I can feel how much you're enjoying this. Your pretty ass,-”_

_he slapped one of his butt cheeks, leaving a burning red mark. Just the nth burning mark on his pale skin,_

_“-is telling me exactly just how much you want it. So just tell me how much you're loving it, I want to hear it from your pretty lips,”_

_He traced Stiles' lower lip with his thumb, and even if he noticed the blood spilling from it, his face never showed it._

  
_Stiles was exhausted. He sobbed hard, his face red and wet from all the crying, and pleaded him with his eyes._

_“Please don't hurt me...”_

_The man's face suddenly turned as cold as ice. He tightened his grip around Stiles' chin, the boy felt his cheeks going numb where the man's fingers were pressing carelessly._

_“Say it,” he commanded, every last trace of amusement disappearing from his features._

  
_Then, seeing how Stiles' only answer was another sob, he slapped him again on the already abused cheek._

_“Say it, you little slut!”_

_Stiles sobbed again and shut his eyes._

_“I... I love it...” he whispered._

_Kevin looked satisfied._

_“Don't you think I'm going really easy on you tonight? Don't you want me to go harder?”_

_His hand was once again on Stiles' face, fingers pressed into his skin._

_“Say it. Say you want me to go harder on you.”_

  
_Stiles was sure he was gonna pass out from all the pain, but still managed to open his shaky lips. There was no way to escape._

_“P... please... ha... harder...”_

  
_The man was now completely satisfied. His hand shifted to Stiles' hair, pulling it hard as he increased his pounding._

_“That's my little whore.”_

  
_Stiles closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks while he was choking on his own sobs_.

  
“Please don't hurt me... please...” Stiles whispered the words he used to whisper every night when he still had a facade of a normal life. 

He was used to begging and pleading for the pain to stop, but no one ever listened to his words. 

His shaking hands went to Derek's arms, his fingers digging in the tanned skin in a helpless attempt to free himself. 

“Please don't hurt me, I will do anything... Please d-don't...” another loud sob choked him. 

  
Derek was beginning to see through the fog in his brain, his attacks of blind rage never lasted long but sometimes it was enough for him to commit the worst things without realizing.

He let go of Stiles' face and watched as he collapsed on his chair, heavily breathing and tears falling from his eyes. 

He was still trying to process everything when he saw the boy having a really hard time breathing and looking at Derek with panicked eyes. 

“...What's wrong?” Derek ended up asking, upon seeing the kid looking around frantically while behaving like he was suffocating on nothing.

  
Stiles swallowed hard and brought one of his hand to his throat, holding it like it was about to detach from his body. 

“Pills... I- I need...” he sobbed and tried to stand up but failed miserably because his legs weren't supporting him.

Derek felt a weird lump in his throat. 

“Where are the pills?”

  
Stiles pointed a finger to the little bathroom that was now his personal. Derek glanced one last time at him before reaching the room with a few long steps. 

He rummaged through the cabinets and came back in less than a minute with a little transparent bottle of pills in his hands. 

  
Stiles practically teared it off of his hands as soon as he was near and swallowed two of those pills.

Derek hesitated for a moment before providing him with a glass of water. 

He sat at the table again and watched as the boy's breathing went back to a regular one. He was even paler than usual, if possible. 

  
Derek followed his every movement with his eyes, silently; waiting for a couple of minutes before saying, “So this is what you bought at the drugstore last time.” 

  
Stiles was caught off guard by that statement and just nodded. He was still shaking a bit and was holding the little bottle in his hands so tightly he could feel the plastic creaking. 

Derek looked down at the veined back of his hand on the table, before looking out of the window, trying to feign indifference. 

  
He wasn't used to initiate conversations and he didn't know why he was trying to make one now. Maybe because he felt guilty. He shook the thought out of his head. 

“Don't you need medical prescriptions for those?”   
he asked out of blue, surprising himself and Stiles as well, with that question. 

  
_Why would he care? Was he really trying to make conversation or...?_ His mind was a mystery to his own self that day.

  
Stiles cleared his throat, deciding not look at anything else except the table for a while. 

His cheeks and chin were still throbbing, so he massaged them with one hand, very carefully. 

The gesture caught Derek's attention, the weird lump in his throat suddenly back to bother him. 

  
“I had... one old prescription from my psychiatrist, I used that one...” Stiles's voice came out in a shaky whisper.

Something rang in Derek's brain. 

“Psychiatrist?” he repeated before he could stop himself. 

Stiles looked even more uncomfortable, trying to make himself small on that chair. He looked away, hugging his own chest in some kind of attempt to protect himself.

 _From what?_ , Derek wondered. 

  
Stiles was considering the situation very carefully. Derek was apparently interested in his story but he wasn't sure just how much he could tell the man, and he didn't want to reveal too much.   
He wasn't ready, he was never gonna be ready for that. 

  
Still, the hitman was probably going to forget or simply don't care about whatever Stiles had to say, so he could at least say a couple of words to explain the situation. 

  
“I suffer from PTSD,” he blurted out in one breath , his head dropping even further down to avoid any judgmental stare from the older man. 

Derek kept looking at him in silence. On the outside, it looked like the news hadn't had any impact on him at all. On the inside, many questions were running through his mind. 

  
He wondered how he didn't get the hints, he wondered why he had just thought the kid was just a scaredy-cat and nothing more – he wasn't stupid, on the contrary, he was pretty fast at detecting other people weaknesses; diseases included -, he wondered if the man going by the name of Kevin Ito had anything to do with Stiles' PTSD. 

  
His hand flinched on the table, half-clenching in a fist before going back to lay still on the wooden surface.

“What are you going to do when there's no more pills?” he simply asked. 

Stiles' head shot up, panic in his eyes. He hadn't thought about that yet. He didn't have any more prescriptions but he needed the medicine. 

Actually, he needed the whole treatment, his weekly sessions with his psychotherapist and the medicines were important to him. But for now, he had to get the medicine at least. 

It was the only thing helping him during his attacks.

He slowly lowered his head, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“I... I don't know...”

  
There was a moment of silence and Stiles almost burned a hole in the floor with his stare, not daring to look up yet.

  
“Just as I thought.” 

Derek briefly drummed his fingers on the table before getting up and disappearing into his room.

Stiles glanced at the closed door with a puzzled look on his face. He waited for ten minutes thinking maybe the man would come back but he heard the sound of pouring water coming from the inside.

  
Derek didn't seem to care about Stiles' situation, just as he had foreseen.

He sighed and got up, deciding he need to eat something and then take a shower as well.

_...._...._

It was almost halfway through the afternoon when Derek heard a loud knock on the door. He raised his eyes from the computer screen, senses sharpened and on full alert. 

He could hear Stiles' humming still coming from the bathroom and light wet sounds on the floor as he moved around, but nothing except that.

  
Derek didn't hear any footsteps on the stairs so whoever was at the door must have been really silent, way more than average people.

He got up and took his Desert Eagle Mark XIX with him. His steps were soundless against the tiled floor when he reached the door and looked through the peephole.

_Black_. 

The stranger was covering the hole with his thumb. 

Derek's lips became a tight line. He stood there in silence, trying to capture every possible noise from the outside. 

He was pretty sure he could hear the stranger breathing and managed to determine their height from that.

He didn't have any choices other than to attack. Gun in his hand, he quickly opened the door and pointed it towards the intruder's forehead. 

Derek's heartbeat had slowed down like he was floating in space. He could feel the adrenaline running through his veins, ready to face any possible danger. 

  
Then, a familiar laugh rang in Derek's ears while two fingers non-chalantly moved his gun aside. 

“I can't believe it, you always fall for this trick!”

Derek's eyes widened a bit. 

  
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed, “I knew it was you,” he lied. 

A tall man just about Derek's age was standing in front of the door, dark blond hair and strong features. He wore all black from head to toe and apparently wasn't the least scared by guns. 

The newcomer laughed harder. 

“Yeah like I will ever believe you,” he patted Derek on the shoulder and grinned. “Are you gonna let me in or what? You know, I could have just break into your house but I decided to be polite for once and knock on your door. You should thank me for that.” 

  
Derek rolled his eyes. “One day you're gonna get killed by one of your stupid tricks,” but he still let him in and closed the door. 

  
Jackson threw his leather jacket on the couch and sat at the table, putting down his own gun on the wooden surface. 

“Be a good host and make me some coffee now dear Der, won't you?” he smiled brightly. 

Derek stiffened at that. “Don't call me that for fuck's sake,” he looked at the bathroom and hoped Stiles didn't hear that. 

  
His relationship with Jackson was that of good old friends, and he was the only one allowed to call him names or to be so comfortable around him – to a certain extent of course. Actually, Jackson was just someone who never learned to wait for permissions, he just do whatever with or without people's consent. 

Derek hated to admit it but he felt at ease with him as well. Jackson would always joke about how Derek looked 'more human' when he was around him. Maybe it was because the other hitman knew his demons, and he had his own as well.

  
The man followed his stare. 

“Oh, right!” He lowered his voice to a whisper and smiled. “Almost forgot about the pretty boy you are hiding in here..” 

Derek side-eyed him for a moment while pouring some black coffee in two cups, pretending he didn't hear. He handed one cup to Jackson and sat in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, putting his own gun near the other man's one before taking the first sip of his coffee. 

Jackson did the same and clicked his tongue, grimacing at the bitter flavor. 

“I need a place to stay for a couple of days, I had some hassles with my last job and I need to hide until it's safe enough to leave the country.”

Derek grinned. “And you came to me? Did you forget about my own hassles?” He sounded as sarcastic as he could. 

  
Jackson shrugged. “At the moment your place is more safe than a 5-star-hotel room to me. And by the way you owe me a favor.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “No way. You owed me a favor, which was the reason why I asked you to keep an eye on the kid,” he carelessly gestured towards the bathroom and took another sip from his cup, licking his lower lip soon after.

“Oh for hell's sake, you are still on that Thailand shit again?” 

“And Russia. And Paris. You seem to have short memory.” Derek provided carelessly.

“Fuck you.” 

  
Derek just laughed. Jackson made a face and changed the subject. 

“...Anyway, you weren't even my first choice. I asked Boyd but he's always fucking around, you know,” he rolled his eyes. Derek nodded. 

“Literally and metaphorically.”

They both looked at each other and bursted out laughing at the same time. It didn't last long, as both of them weren't really comfortable with showing any sort of emotion. 

  
Jackson eyed Derek for a long moment, mindlessly tracing the profile of his gun with his thumb. 

“Enough with the bullshits... How are you doing?” The way he asked the question made the meaning behind his words pretty clear for Derek.

“I had one... few days ago.” 

Jackson nodded thoughtfully.

“The flat is still in place, so I guess you didn't do much damage,” he tried to laugh it off. 

Derek stayed serious, looked down at his cup, hazel-green eyes fixed on the coffee. 

“The kid was there. I attacked him.” 

Jackson's smile immediately fell. “Derek, what did you do?”

  
“Nothing, I...” he made a face and shook his head, like he was trying to remember or get rid of that memory, the other man didn't know which one.

“He's fine now.” 

  
“Sure as hell he is or we wouldn't be having this conversation,” Jackson rolled his eyes. “Derek, you know this could get worse. You can't live with other people, let alone with someone who doesn't even know what they got themselves into. Why did you keep that kid with you?” 

  
Derek got up and took his cigarettes from the counter. He went to the window and rested one shoulder against the wall. 

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

It was the truth. He had no idea about his actions anymore.

  
Jackson shook his head. “You should just get rid of him. You know he's as good as dead anyway. How long will you play Superman? Kevin Ito's men are gonna find him, no matter what you do.”

  
Derek turned to fix his empty eyes on the other man.

“No. I have a plan.” 

Jackson looked bewildered. 

“A plan?” He echoed, laughing. 

  
Derek lit another cigarette without looking at him. Jackson realized the other man was serious and sighed.

“Tell me” 

  
The black-haired man slowly released the smoke from his lips , one corner of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. 

  
“I'm just gonna kill them all, isn't that obvious?”

Jackson didn't even blink. 

“Yes, of course,” he said in a sarcastic tone and sighed again. “Funny, now...What's the real plan, Derek?” 

  
Derek said nothing. Jackson's eyes widened. That _was_ the real plan.

“...Are you aware The Nogitsune has branches all over New York ? Hell, all over the world even! How are you gonna kill all those people?” 

  
Derek shook some ashes off his cigarette and smiled his sick smile while looking out in the street.

“One by one, of course.”

“All this for one spoiled kid? Are you in your right mind?!” Jackson was shocked. “Well I knew you were mad just as much as I am, but come on... what do you expect me to do huh? Just let you go on with this madness!?” 

  
Derek exhaled some more smoke and moved to sit on the couch again. 

“No,” 

he looked Jackson in the eyes. “I expect you to help me.”

  
The younger hitman's eyes widened. 

“What- this is non-sense. Why are you even doing this?” 

The other man grinned but no answer came from his mouth.

Well, Jackson wasn't someone who liked to give up that fast. 

“Derek, seriously... why are you doing this for that kid?” 

  
A dull thud echoed through the living room before Derek could answer. 

“Oh gosh”

The two men turned around rapidly just to see Stiles standing in the middle of the room dressed only in his bathrobe, a hairbrush at his feet.

They were so caught up in their conversation that they didn't realize the water had stopped flowing some time ago already. 

  
Stiles quickly bent down to get his hairbrush back, looking puzzled and embarassed by the new guest's sudden presence in their living room. 

He kept his eyes on the two men at the table, his hair was still completely wet, water dropping down his face and shoulders.

  
“Uhm, I-I'm sorry, I just...” he was stumbling on his own words.

Jackson let his eyes wander on the tiny face, pink plush lips, dark brownish hair, and took in as much exposed skin as he could. He had kept an eye on the boy for a whole weekend but always from afar. It was his first time seeing him up close and he was curious.   
He smiled.

“Hello, _pretty boy,_ ” he said cordially. 

Stiles' cheeks got an adorable flush of pink. 

_Was that man one of Derek's friends? He wasn't sure if Derek even had friends. Why did he look so friendly with him anyway?_

He let his eyes wander on his handsome face and muscular body. _Also, why was he so hot? Wait,... did he just call him pretty?_

  
“I didn't know we had guests, sorry...” Stiles muttered and closed his bathrobe a bit better, not sure what to do. 

  
Jackson just looked amused.   
“Does this mean you usually have no problems in going half-naked around Derek?” 

  
Both Derek and Stiles stiffened at that. Stiles shifted his weight from one bare foot to another, looking extremely uncomfortable. 

“I... I think I'll just put on some clothes and be right back. I can make ramen for dinner, if that's okay?”

He looked at Derek. The hitman slightly nodded and a moment later the boy was back inside the bathroom again. He always took a long time to get ready, Derek knew he wasn't probably going to come out as soon as he had said. 

  
Jackson laughed. “Such a tease, isn't he?” 

Derek furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What?” 

  
“He looks so pure and innocent. Don't you ever feel like pushing him against the wall and get a taste of those red lips?” He grinned, showing his white teeth like a feral wolf would show it's fangs. 

Derek's eyes grew a new shade of dark. 

  
Jackson didn't notice or pretend not to, so he went on:

“I wanna make the best out of the two days I'll be staying here.” 

He turned to look at the bathroom door and then again at Derek. 

“You know I'm not the type to ask for permissions, right?” He grinned again. 

  
Derek knew exactly what kind of an asshole Jackson was, but he also knew he wasn't such an idiot.

He kept looking at him for a while, then said, “Are you done talking bullshits?” 

  
Jackson looked puzzled for a moment, then laughed. “Alright, alright, you got me. I was just joking. I would never take your prey away from you my dear friend.” 

  
“He's not my-”

  
“By the way I changed my mind.” Jackson cut him off.   
“I will help you with this madness. Just tell me what's on your mind.” 

Derek threw away the cigarette and looked thoughtful. “I'm still working on it. I'll let you know.” 

He then got up to go back into his room. 

“You can sleep on the couch, the futon is the kid's.”

“Can I sleep with the kid?” Was Jackson's immediate reply. 

Derek looked him dead in the eye. He didn't want to look annoyed but he felt like he needed to say something. 

“Leave him alone. I'm serious Jax.”

Derek only used his name when he wanted him to fully concentrate on what he was saying. Jackson was a bit taken aback. 

“I didn't know you cared so much.”

  
Derek shook his head.

“It's not that. He said-...” 

he looked away, the events of that morning still burned in his memory. _Yeah, why would he care about the kid's story?_ But somehow, he did. 

“He has issues. Just let him be.”

Jackson wasn't of course the type of person to end the topic like that. 

“What kind of issues?” 

He was truly interested and noticed that Derek looked slightly uncomfortable, which was a rare sight. Not that he was showing any kind of emotions, but Jackson just knew.

  
Derek briefly glanced at the bathroom door before saying, “That morning, when I-... I.. attacked him... He had some sort of breakdown. He couldn't breathe. Literally. He was suffocating. He had to take some pills...” 

he run a hand through his messy black hair. “He told me he has PTSD.” 

  
“Well, after all he's been through, I mean, I'm not a psychologist or anything, but what we do must look pretty shocking to average people. And his man wants him dead, so-” 

  
“He's not his man!.,” Derek suddenly said. “He just used him. You know Kevin Ito's deeds as much as I do. He just used the kid.” 

Jackson looked amused by that interruption. “You're really defensive when it comes to that boy... Don't you think you care too much?”

  
Derek avoided his teasing tone and didn't answer. Jackson felt even more amused - Derek could feel it, and it was driving him insane. 

  
“I think it's something that has to do with his past. Something that has to do with the reason he asked me to kill Kevin Ito in the first place,” Derek said after some moments. 

Jackson nodded slightly, lost in his thoughts, until one of them hit him. 

“Wait. Do you think...” Derek looked at him. 

“What?”

“What are your thoughts about this?” 

“I don't know. I don't have any idea yet.” 

  
“Well I think I do.” Jackson looked dead serious. 

  
Derek was still confused and sat on the couch again. 

“Tell me.”

Jackson shrugged. “While I was keeping an eye on him last weekend I noticed he had some sleeping issues. He woke up in the middle of the night screaming or didn't sleep at all. 

Most of the time he slept during the day, a lot easier compared to the night but he had nightmares during daytime as well.

I never thought it was anyting serious, but I remembered him looking scared out of his mind,”

he gave Derek an pointed look. “Then he started sleeping in your room, and I think he relaxed a bit after that. Thought you knew, you never heard him screaming?” 

Derek ignored the pang of guilt when he heard the reason why the boy slept in his bedroom and concentrated on Jackson's question.

Derek tried to remember if something like that had happened when he was home.

“No, I don't remember anything like that. I noticed he slept during the day but I never heard him screaming or anything. I would know.” 

  
“Then maybe he just gets bad nightmares when he's alone.” Jackson reasoned.

“But listen here... after what you just said, I'm starting to think he's been abused.”

  
Derek's whole body stiffened as he heard those words.   
It wasn't like he never thought it could be a possibility, but to hear it from someone else was all the confirmation he needed.

The hitman was suddenly recollecting some of the memories from the night at the villa. He remembered how Kevin Ito had called Stiles.

* “ _You little bitch_..” *

It hadn't sounded like something he was saying for the first time. 

“You're saying...” he clenched his fist without even realizing. 

  
Jackson slowly nodded. “I'm saying Kevin Ito is a motherfucker, a son of a bitch and a filthy rapist. Just to add something new to the list.” 

He shrugged. “I mean I knew he wasn't a saint, but doing this kind of stuff to someone you're married to sounds freaking shitty, even to me... He deserves that place in hell more than you and me put together,” he laughed. 

  
Derek didn't laugh at all. He was glaring at the table so fiercely like he was about to burn a hole in it. 

Then suddenly they heard the door cracking open. 

“Oh,” Stiles said, slightly surprised to find Jackson was still there. He wore a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt, his hair looking lighter now that it was dry. 

“Are you staying for dinner... uhm...”

“Jackson,” the man said, grinning. 

Stiles blushed for no reason. “Jackson,” he quietly repeated.

  
“Yes, I'm staying for a while actually,” the hitman turned to Derek, still grinning. “Right?” 

Derek wasn't even listening, his fist still clenched on the table. Stiles noticed he was upset but decided not to say anything and just went straight to the kitchen counter, looking for noodles.

“I see,” he said, not really knowing how to take the news. The last thing he expected form Derek was for him to invite someone to stay there with them after all his blabbing about enemies and stuff. 

“I guess I'm just gonna make more ramen then,” he softly chuckled.

Derek seemed to wake up from his numbness at the sound. He got up and went to Stiles while the boy had his back on them, trying to reach the top shelf of the cupboard which was too high for him. 

Jackson watched as his friend leaned over the boy and reached for the shelf, taking the noodles packets and handing them over to Stiles. The younger one was surprised and looked up at Derek. 

“Thank you...” he murmured. He felt like wanting to say more but after the events of that morning they weren't on very good terms. Derek wasn't really talking to him and he didn't know how to act around the hitman now. 

  
Derek just slightly nodded before distancing himself from the boy. He watched him as he was cooking, ignoring Jackson's obvious stares. He knew what his friend was thinking but he could care less at that moment. 

  
He was still elaborating the new information about Stiles' past and had mixed feelings about it, something he wasn't used to. He watched as Stiles pushed some hair behind his ear and felt a tightness in his chest. 

  
_I will protect you._

_...._...._

Stiles laid on his futon, peacefully reading one of the few books he had. Or at least he was trying to read, but he kept feeling uneasy and he knew the reason why. 

  
Jackson was on his rightful spot on the couch, where- , Stiles had just discovered, - he would be sleeping for the next couple of days. But the only problem was the man kept looking at Stiles all the time. 

His stare was almost piercing, it was weird because most of the time the man had this plastered grin on his lips while he was watching him.

Stiles could feel the man was interested in him. It wasn't that hard to detect to be honest. From the first moment their eyes met he had seen some kind of lust in his eyes. 

  
Stiles could only imagine what kind of man he was, since he was friends with Derek. But still, Jackson looked very different from Derek. 

First of all, he was way more open and friendly, in a teasing sort of way.   
The only conversation taking place during dinner was the one between him and Jackson. Derek had mostly been eating and nodding from time to time. 

The man had also some kind of humor, which Derek lacked. And he laughed a lot. Stiles kind of liked him. As a company, of course. 

  
Still, he was growing more and more uncomfortable with the way the man was looking at him.

“Uhm, do you need something?” he finally asked, putting his book down.

Jackson smiled wider. He was leaning on the left edge of the couch, arms crossed under his chin.

  
“Just wondering what do you usually do with Derek. Do you hang out often?” 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and tried to understand the reason behind such a question. It seemed harmless though. 

  
“We don't hang out much... we went out only once. Derek says it's dangerous for me to go around,” he made a careless gesture with his right hand and pouted a little. 

He felt frustrated but he also knew Derek was right. The memories of the shopping afternoon still scared him. 

He heard Jackson laughing hard. 

“This is ridiculous, is he afraid he won't be able to protect you? I thought he had balls.” 

  
Stiles' lips curled a bit. He didn't quite like how he was talking about Derek. He didn't know why– he had no reason to defend the hitman – but he didn't like it. But he chose not to say anything.

  
“What about going out for dinner tomorrow? Sounds nice enough?” the man went on, grinning.

Stiles was taken aback by the offer but before he could answer they heard the deep baritone voice coming from behind them. 

  
“Sounds good to me,” Derek said, entering the kitchen to make himself some midnight coffee.

He had been cooped up in his room the whole evening, but Stiles was sure he could hear everything and certainly knew where Jackson was heading. 

He probably thought Stiles didn't, hence why he decided to step in and “save” him from a dangerous date. 

“I didn't say you were invited,” Jackson retorted.  
"It's only me and the pretty boy. "

Derek turned around and shot his best death glare at his friend.

“You can say goodbye to that dream, then.”

  
Stiles followed the conversation, shifting his eyes from Jackson to Derek and vice versa, until he couldn't take it anymore and started laughing.

Both men turned around with confused expressions on their faces. 

Stiles covered his mouth with the back of his hand, hiding his big smile, but couldn't stop chuckling.

“S-sorry... it's just that you're so funny when you're together.”

Jackson made a face and Derek went back to make his coffee without saying a word. 

Stiles stopped laughing after a short while, even more amused by their expressions. It felt weird because he knew they were dangerous men, but at the same time they looked so normal to him, like a pair of best friends teasing each other. 

He looked at Derek's muscular back while he waited for his coffee to boil, and couldn't help but think he was glad the man was coming with him. 

_Kinda like a date._

He felt himself blushing at the thought, he didn't understand his own mind. He was still a bit scared for what had happened that day, but he felt like Derek was trying to make it up to him in his own silent way.

  
Jackson noticed the way Stiles kept glancing at Derek and turned around to look at his friend, who had no idea what was going on while he poured his nth black coffee of that day in a mug. 

“Ah, really?.., this is so frustrating, I can't take this anymore..” he said while getting up. 

Both Derek and Stiles turned around to look at him, the first completely neutral and the latter with a puzzled expression. 

Jackson took his leather jacket and looked at both of them.

“I'm going out for a bit,” 

he looked at Stiles and winked. “Don't stay awake waiting for me, pretty boy.” 

Stiles' mouth went dry as he blushed. Derek gave the man his most annoyed expression.

Jackson just laughed and disappeared out of the door. 

“Asshole,” Stiles heard Derek muttering, before taking his mug back to his bedroom.

  
“G-goodnight!” Stiles wished, maybe a bit too loud, only to regret it a second later when he remembered about that sms accident. 

Derek stopped on the door frame, back still turned. He licked his dry lower lip.

“Goodnight.” 

A moment later the door was closed again, but Stiles kept looking at it for a good whole minute, eyes wide. 

Then he brought both hands on his cheeks and realized they were suddenly really warm. He smiled and went back to read the book.

  
  
_...._...._

It was almost dawn when Jackson was back in the living room again. He left his combat boots in the doorway and his jacket on the couch. His whole body smelled like cigarettes and forbidden places.

He glanced at the corner of the room and saw Stiles' sleeping figure curled up in his futon. His messy hair partially covering his eyes and he seemed relaxed. No nightmares still. He also had a tiny smile on his lips.

  
One corner of Jackson's mouth lifted up in what should have been a crooked smile as he went to the kitchen to pour himself some cold coffee. 

That was when the door to Derek's room suddenly cracked open and the hitman appeared from the shadows, his computer screen was the only light visible in his bedroom.

He leaned with one shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms.

“Join me when you're done,” his dark eyes told Jackson that he had something on his mind.

The other man nodded and left his cup on the table, the two of them both checking on Stiles for a brief moment – without being aware the other was looking as well – before locking themselves inside Derek's room. 

  
The room was really dark but it didn't matter. Their eyes were well-trained. 

Jackson immediately spotted a map on the wall covered in red pins. 

“What's that?”

Derek sat on his bed, glancing at the map and then back at the computer screen. 

“I started the outline of my plan. Those are the branches of the organization I need to find. They're all here in New York. It would be easier just to kill Kevin Ito... but I want to have fun,” he smiled his sick smile, showing his perfect white teeth. 

Jackson didn't flinch. He was used to that side of Derek, the side that loved to kill and to see blood spilling everywhere. The psycho side of him. He was a coldblooded killer, no one could expect him to be completely sane. Jackson wasn't either. 

“Fun? Really?” he scoffed instead.

“I'll start from the suburb branches. I want them to fear my presence coming closer and closer as I kill every last son of a bitch they have,” Derek's eyes were dark and distant as though he was living some kind of out-of-body experience. 

“I want them to beg for their lives as I dig their skin and I want to see the life leaving their eyes when I cut their throats.” 

Jackson put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of his dark thoughts.

“That sounds.... fun,” he laughed. 

“What is my role in this little play, may I ask?”

Derek showed him his computer screen and proceeded to explain the details. 

“I won't ask you to help me with the organization, but I may need help in guarding the kid,” he said after a while.

Jackson pretended to be offended. “So you're going to keep all the fun stuff for yourself as always,” he rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I'll probably have a lot of work to do anyway..” 

  
Derek cracked the beginning of a smile that was gone a moment later. 

“Since it's in New York It shouldn't take much time for each branch but still, there's no safe place for him here...” 

“...so you're getting your precious boy a super high-class killer as bodyguard. Got it.   
Also, maybe I'll get to have some fun with him when you won't be here to blow my chances. ” 

Jackson grinned and a second later Derek's elbow was in his stomach. 

“Ugh, rude.” He faked a pout but the dark-haired man wasn't even paying attention to him anymore. He was focused on the screen and Jackson could tell he was really planning this carnage in details and that was all because of that boy.

As absurd as it sounded, Derek cared. He cared about another human being for maybe the first time in his life. 

  
Jackson sighed and smiled, sitting down next to his old friend.

“Come on, explain this shit to me. I'm curious.” 

Derek glanced at him and grinned. 

They spent some long hours looking through the files, pictures and every other thing they could find about the organization, outlining what would Derek need in every mission, be it weapons, ID cards or clothes. 

It wasn't going to be easy. The more they planned every last move, the more they realized that infiltrating the heart of the organization was gonna be tough and potentially fatal. But Derek had already made up his mind. He was going to end that chapter for good. 

  
_I will protect you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write!😥😥  
> Why do I feel like I revealed too much here🤔 lol


	8. Chapter 8

The woman at the door was clearly enchanted by the unusual trio in front of her. 

“Dawkins, table for three,” Derek gave the fake name, looking around with his usual unreadable expression. 

His black leather jacket and messy hair were apparently giving the waitress a hard time breathing. Stiles had to clear his throat to make her focus again.

He was kinda annoyed. Derek and Jackson were making him feel like a child with their impossible heights. Stiles was really tall too, so he wondered how tall the hitmen were exactly. 

He stood behind them silently. The situation kind of reminded him of those times when he used to went out eating with his parents. It was awkward.

“Dawkins,” the woman repeated, trying to focus on the computer screen for once and not on Derek's muscular arms or Jackson's flirty smile. 

It was hard not to and Stiles kind of sympathised with her. He blushed at the thought and looked around. 

The restaurant was one of those expensive ones you only see in magazines or newspapers, usually when some famous personalities had dinner there.

Stiles was used to those kind of place, still this particular restaurant was new even to him. 

He had suggested they went for a simple pizza or McDonalds but Jackson had argued that if they were to go out and possibly put themselves in danger, the least they could do was make the night worthy. 

Derek didn't agree at first to the whole going out thing, mostly because of that infamous shopping afternoon, but in the end he had given up and agreed to Jackson's plan. 

Hence how they found themselves in one of the most expensive restaurants in New York. The waitress finally managed to find their name on the very long list of reservations and proceeded to show them their table.

“Our customers usually wait months for reservations,” she said casually, it was probably something she said to everyone who entered that place, like ' _oh you poor boys dressed in poor leather jackets are so lucky to get a table in our pretentious restaurant, honestly I don't even know how you can afford to eat here'_ or something of that kind. 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows though. He was pretty sure Derek and Jackson had made the reservation just the day before. 

All eyes were on them as they reached their table: Both Derek and Jackson looked all tall dark and handsome so of course they got the ladies' attention – and not only the ladies' – some of the young men too. 

Stiles was used to those kind of stares – people sometimes recognized him on the streets because of his husband's connections – but he couldn't decide if he liked the way some chesty women were looking at Derek. One of them even licked her lips as Derek passed by her – Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and decided that, no, he didn't like it at all.

As they reached their table, Jackson made a gesture of pulling the chair out for Stiles, to which Stiles replied with a blunt _'I'm a man_ ' before taking the chair away from Jackson and sitting down. 

  
Derek grinned at the other man's disappointed expression before sitting down as well. The table was a round one, which spared Stiles the embarassment of having to choose near which man he wanted to sit.  
But he allowed Jackson to move his chair near him to the point where their elbows were practically touching. 

  
Derek didn't seem to care about that though as he looked through the menu. He kept looking around every now and then, and Jackson started grinning at some point. 

“Relax, none of our friends are here. I checked,” he smiled and winked at Stiles. 

  
Derek looked at him dead in the eye. “I checked too. But you should know this doesn't mean we are allowed to lower our guards.”

  
Stiles realized they were talking about the Organization. He sighed, knowing that he never gonna get another quiet day in his life. The only reason he was not panicking was the presence of the two men by his side. Though he should have been scared of them as well. 

He didn't know when Derek was eventually going to snap out and realize there's no point in protecting him and he had no reason to do it any longer.

He looked at the man and mused once again about how grateful he was for what Derek was doing for him. Behind those permanently furrowed thick eyebrows and sharp eyes there was something. 

Stiles couldn't define it yet, but he was growing to like the man more and more and he was scared of his own feelings. He wasn't supposed to feel like that. But if he wasn't supposed to feel like that, why couldn't he get _rid of the feeling?_

“...Stiles?” 

Stiles was shaken out of his thoughts at that. He noticed a waiter was standing there looking at him. Jackson was calling his name.

“What about you, Stiles?” he asked again, an eyebrow raised, probably wondering what was wrong with him. The brown-haired boy realized they were talking about his order. 

  
He cleared his throat and quickly chose something from the list on the menu, without much thought. He was sure anything was great in this restaurant and honestly speaking he was tired of the same three dishes they always ate at home. After only eating ramen and cheap takeouts , any meal here would taste like haven.

Once the waiter was gone he awkwardly smiled. 

“I didn't think we would really go out like this, thank you. I-I needed it,” he sighed. 

He really needed some fresh air, even though he felt more safe at the hitman's apartment. 

Jackson noticed how even if he was talking to the both of them, Stiles only had eyes on Derek.

He put an arm around Stiles' shoulders. “If it was up to this grandpa right here you would be eating dust in his apartment forever,” he laughed.

Derek didn't react to the shading and Stiles aimed an awkward smile at him before turning to Jackson.

“Uhm yeah, thank you,” he shifted away from under Jackson's arm and could swear he saw Derek lifting up one corner of his mouth in what looked like a grin for just a second.

They ate their dinner in a relaxed atmosphere, Jackson talking non-stop and shamelessly flirting with Stiles who would slightly blushed and check on Derek every now and then to see if the hitman had any kind of reaction to Jackson's actions – he hadn't, much to his disappointment. 

  
It felt like a reunion between old friends and it was exactly what Stiles needed. But Stiles wasn't stupid. He knew by now every minute of freedom had it's price. 

And Stiles realized how accurate his thought was when after dinner Jackson stepped outside for a cigarette break. He came back as soon as he left . 

Stiles could tell something was wrong because he had never seen the man with such a dark face.

“There's three of them outside. I guess they know we're in here but I don't think they know our faces, they didn't recognize me,” the man explained as soon as he sat down again. “They probably have spies in every corner of this filthy city.” 

  
Derek stiffened, then shook his head with a grin. “They are sending the newbies now? They really think we're not worth their time.” 

“Still, we can't just walk out of here like that,” Jackson reasoned. “I think we can use the backdoor in the kitchen, if we just-”

  
“CAN we stop this, please?!” Stiles burst out, fists clenched on the table and eyes closed. Both men stopped their planning and looked at the younger one. Stiles realized there was silence around him and looked up again. He felt slightly embarassed to have all their attention. 

“I-I mean... you said these men are outside so they're probably just waiting for us to come out and they're not gonna break in, right?” He swallowed hard, trying to keep his anxiety to an manageable level. He didn't need another panic attack now. 

  
He tried to focus on his words to avoid anymore thinking. “So can we just go on with our dinner and pretend nothing is happening? Just for a little while... please.” 

They all stayed silent for a couple of moments. Stiles had his eyes fixed on the tablecloth, fingers curled around the fabric of his jeans. 

Actually, he was fully panicking on the inside, and the worse thing was, what scared him the most was not the situation itself but the feeling that he was gonna pass out and suffocate or something. 

He knew his thoughts weren't rational or anything, he was aware of that but he couldn't stop his brain from panicking - he tried to stay strong and think positive anyway, he always tried. 

  
Jackson cleared his throat. “Stiles, I don't think you get the situation. Even if they're not trying to break in we still need to-” 

“No, he's right,” 

Derek interrupted him.

“They're not going to come and get us in here. We can finish dinner.” 

Stiles' head shot up and he looked at Derek with wide eyes. The man returned the gaze and Stiles was surprised in finding those harsh eyes somehow softened. They still pierced right through his heart and soul but they were also telling him that Derek understood his feelings.

  
Jackson looked at the both of them and sighed, “You two are disgusting.” 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he went back to eating, feeling somehow defeated. 

Stiles thought he was gonna lose all his appetite after the bad news but surprisingly enough Derek's words had him feeling all warm inside. He gladly went back to the expensive dishes. 

“Guess we have to get used to this kind of surprises anyway,” he murmured in between bites, more to himself than for everyone to hear.

Jackson laughed, “Not for much longer, don't worry!” 

Derek gave him the death-stare and Stiles looked puzzled. 

“What do you mean?”

The older man looked at Derek who was still eye-killing him. 

“Oh... Thought you told him about the plan. My bad.” 

“What plan?” Stiles was both scared and curious now.

Derek crossed his arms and let out a sigh.  
“The only way to get out of this alive is to remove the threat.” 

Stiles blinked twice. “Which means...” 

  
“Which means killing every single motherfucker in New York,” Jackson explained, his usual flirty smile on his lips. 

His muscular arm was back on Stiles' shoulders and he was hugging him by his side. 

“So don't you worry about that anymore, mh? We're good at the dirty jobs...” he whispered near Stiles's ear. 

The younger man couldn't help but blush a little, he wasn't used to shameless men like Jackson and it felt both uncomfortable and arousing, in a way. 

Derek watched the scene trying to not get affected by it. He felt something strangely similar to rage building up inside him at the display but he didn't want to admit how strong his desire to punch Jackson's face right in that moment was. 

He looked away and tried to convince himself that he had no reason to feel like that. There was nothing between him and Stiles. Hell, why should there be anything? 

Also, Stiles seemed to enjoy Jackson's company way more than his. It was totally understandable, Derek was aware of his unapproachable personality. 

But he hadn't always been like that. There was a time when he was slightly more friendly and open to human contact, but that was before his enlistment in the military. 

He had to learn how to turn off his emotions, he had spent years in learning how to keep a straight face, how not to be affected by anything. 

  
Jackson had gone through more or less the same training but he was different. He could still keep the facade of those flirty smiles and spit bad jokes to hide the fact that he was dead inside, like everyone else in their field. 

Derek sometimes envied him: he was never really good at keeping a mask, in the end his face showed exactly what he felt: nothing. He was an empty shell, a ghost, that's why probably most of his associates called him a cold bastard. 

Then there was Stiles Stilinski , the lost boy, with large expressive eyes and gentle smile. And the ice on Derek's heart had started melting away since he had met that frightened kid - 

which was unacceptable, horrible, regrettable, frightening, dangerous, but also.... strangely pleasant.

  
But still, now Stiles was blushing hard and it was because of Jackson, not because of him. 

Derek remembered how Stiles had looked pleasantly surprised to find Jackson in their house just a couple of days ago. It wasn't hard to understand Stiles felt something for his... friend.

So be it, Derek wasn't gonna say anything to them about it. 

  
“So you're just going to kill every man in the Organization?” Stiles snapped him out of his thoughts with the question asked in a slightly shaky voice. 

Derek mindlessly played with his knife while saying, “As I said, they're after me as well. I just want to end this story and the only way to end it is to end the Organization itself.” 

Stiles swallowed hard.   
“But... isn't it dangerous? You could possibly d-die...” 

Derek didn't even blink, his eyes were focused on the sharp knife. 

“Don't worry, if I die there will be someone taking care of you and completing the mission, so you won't be left in danger even if-” 

“That's not what I'm worrying about! Why you alway- I don't want _you_ to die!” Stiles cried out, slamming his hands on the table. 

They had many eyes on them now and Derek decided he had enough of this evening. 

He got up abruptly , looking for his wallet in his pockets. 

“I guess we're done here. Let's go,” he said in a cold tone and walked away. 

Jackson got up as well, looking at Stiles who was still sitting where he was, following Derek with his eyes.

“Did I... did I say something wrong?” His voice cracked.

Jackson smiled. “You're giving him something he doesn't understand,” he said, his voice tired and almost sad. “Sometimes I wish I had met someone like you before.” 

Stiles watched him walk away and follow Derek to the main hall where the cashier was. 

He didn't understand what had happened just now but he had mixed feelings about it. His heart was racing after he heard Jackson's words. 

He had never seen the man with that kind of expression on his face and he felt like he had just witnessed a tiny bit of the real Jackson.

  
He caught up with them as they stood there, planning what to do next. 

“I think it's better if we don't go out all together,” Jackson was saying. “I'll go first and check the neighborhood to make sure we can go back home without them following us.” 

  
Derek just nodded, acknowledging Stiles' presence only a moment after. “I'll stay here and keep an eye on them. I want to see who these fuckers are.” 

“Yeah but don't catch their eye. They may not know our faces but it won't take them much to realize you're the hitman and Stiles will be in danger if you act recklessly like you always do,” 

he nodded in Stiles' direction and Derek furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Are you telling me how to do my job?” 

Jackson laughed. “It's just that you're always so uptight,” and with a last pat on Derek's shoulder he was out of the restaurant. 

A moment later they heard the rumble of his bike fading away. 

Derek licked his lips and drown his hands in his pockets. 

“Come,” he walked out of the restaurant and Stiles followed suit. 

Three men were standing in front of a black Bentley at the end of the road. They looked completely anonymous, same haircut, same black tuxedos, same sunglasses even if it was dark.

Stiles shivered and closed his jacket a bit more. 

“If they're after us how can they not know our faces?” He asked as Derek lit up a cigarette.

The man released the smoke slowly into the cold air of the night and looked down at Stiles with his sharp eyes. 

“It means they're new to the Organization. The Nogitsune usually challenge the newbies this way: they give them a target but very little info about it. If they succeed anyway it means they're in,” he grinned. “Basically they're using us as a test for their freshmen, which gives us an idea about how much they're underestimating me.” 

  
Stiles looked back at the men who were about thirty meters away from them. They looked intimidating to him. 

“But isn't it better this way? I mean we're standing here and yet they cannot recognize who we are... isn't it better?” 

Derek looked at him as he took in another puff from the cigarette and then raised his gaze to stare the agents, releasing the smoke. He turned back at Stiles with a dangerous grin. 

“Of course. It'll be even more satisfying when I carve every single one of their hearts out of their chests.” 

Stiles shivered again and realized maybe he was more scared of Derek than he was of the agents, or he would have been if Derek wasn't his ally. 

He considered himself really lucky to have Derek on his side and not as an enemy because he couldn't even begin to imagine the things Derek would do to him if he was ever to be his target.

The cold wind was starting to blow and Stiles hugged his own waist in an attempt to warm himself up. It was getting late and more people were stepping out of the restaurant. 

The three men seemed uninterested in the patrons but Stiles suspected they were actually looking at every single person very carefully. 

“W-what are we waiting for?!” Stiles asked at some point, his fingers were starting to freeze. Derek kept an eye on the men. They were probably starting to get the hints as the restaurant was almost empty now. 

“You're too loud,” he scolded Stiles. 

“We need a sign from Jackson before we can move. They could have other agents at every corner from here to the house. He's checking.”

  
Stiles looked at the men again. He was almost sure they were looking at them behind those glasses. He was feeling more and more anxious by the minute and couldn't hold it in. 

“Can't we just go already? You can check the road yourself as we go!” He pleaded. “Look at them, they know something's up, I mean you look like you're about to tear them apart! And I'm pretty sure they figured out we're not a couple or anything by now. The restaurant is closing, we should just go!” 

  
Derek was trying to think but it was almost impossible with Stiles' endless chatting going on and the agents' eyes on them. 

The kid was right though – those men were looking at them and exchanging stares. 

He remembered how Jackson had told him to 'act natural' and Stiles' words were echoing in his mind too. 

  
An idea popped in his mind but he didn't know if it was a good one. He hoped Jackson would do his work faster but in that moment he didn't have many choices. He decided to go for the first thing that ran through his mind. 

_Fuck it._

Stiles was still blabbing and panicking when Derek pushed him against the wall and slammed a hand just a few centimeters over his head. The boy immediately stopped talking and looked up at the man's face. It was way darker than a moment before. 

  
“Mm-De..Derek...?”

  
“Shut up.” Stiles barely had the time to breathe before Derek's lips went crashing against his own in the most aggressive way. 

Instinctively, he grabbed at the hitman's leather jacket, not knowing if it was to push him away or pull him closer, eyes shut as his whole body shuddered. 

He tried to part his lips to speak but that small gesture only gave Derek access to his mouth. 

Stiles felt Derek's tongue slipping inside to brush with his own and before he knew it, he was returning the kiss.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening: he had maybe dreamed about it a couple of times, but as always, reality was a totally different thing. 

A better thing. 

Suddenly, Derek's warm hand was inside his jacket, going up and down his sides and slowly tracing the bare skin of his abs under his shirt.

Stiles felt his face burning. Derek's body was pressing him against the cold wall but it was the last thing on his mind as Derek's lips gently suckled on his tongue . 

  
It was so good and he felt almost guilty for the amount of pleasure he was getting from just a kiss. 

He decided he wasn't gonna think about the consequences of his actions for once and he certainly wasn't gonna question his heart in this moment. He just wanted to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

But it didn't last long , when Derek suddenly parted, completely out of reach. Stiles stayed there for a little longer, eyes closed and lips swollen. 

  
The hitman's first words woke him up from his trance.

“They're gone” 

The boy opened his eyes and noticed that Derek wasn't even looking at him. He followed his gaze and realized those men indeed had disappeared. Derek's plan worked somehow then.

The restaurant was closed and there were just a few people walking on the streets. They kept getting weird looks from the people around them. Stiles quickly fixed his clothes and tried to control his erratic breathing.

Derek's phone started ringing suddenly. He checked the screen without answering and his expression relaxed a bit. Jackson had cleared the path and got ridden of some fleas.

“Let's go,” he said, walking away, not looking back even once.

Stiles wasn't sure his legs could still work after that kiss but somehow he managed to catch up with the hitman. 

He didn't like the way Derek was ignoring the whole thing and acting like nothing happened. Stiles wanted to ask so many questions, but stayed silent because he knew Derek was still on alert as he probably was going to be for the whole ride home. 

As he was wearing his usual helmet and getting on the bike behind Derek, clutching the man's wide shoulders, he decided his questions could wait a bit longer. 

_...._...._

A couple of days later Stiles woke up to the sound of Jackson packing his bag. He rubbed his tired eyes and noticed Derek's door was still closed. The clock showed it was 6am.

  
“Where are you going?” he asked confused.

Jackson looked up from his bag and smiled at the sight of Stiles' crazy bed-hair. 

“I think I've bothered Derek enough. Time to get back to work.” 

Stiles didn't know how to react. He felt sad that the other man was leaving but he didn't want to expose himself too much. 

He kept following Jackson's movements with his eyes and simply released a “oh...” without much enthusiasm.

Jackson noticed it and grinned. “Will you miss me?”

Stiles blushed and quickly got up to make himself a cup of coffee. He definitely liked Jackson in a way, but of course telling him that was out of question. 

But the current situation between him and Derek was still pretty awkward and he wouldn't have minded if Jackson stayed a bit more. He looked at Derek's door again and sighed.

Jackson could guess what was going on in his mind and raised an eyebrow.

“Honestly I don't know what happened between you two but I think you should talk about it,” he smiled. “I mean I know Derek is not really talkative but it's been two days since you last spoke to each other and it's too much even for him.” 

Stiles suddenly felt exposed. Of course Jackson had noticed how his relationship with Derek had gotten colder than ice all of a sudden. Actually he had tried to discuss the 'kiss topic' with the hitman but he never got any response from the older. The situation got so frustrated that at some point he had just decided to answer silence with silence and stopped talking to Derek at all. 

But of course he was gonna deny it, “Uhm, no, we're fine. It's not like I want you to stay because of that.” 

“So you _do_ want me to stay,” the man grinned widely. 

Stiles drank the whole cup of coffee in a single sip and started coughing. “Ugh... n-no, I didn't say that... I mean-... I-...” 

He stopped blabbing when he realized Jackson was laughing at him. 

“I got it, I got it. Too bad then.” He hid his revolver under the jacket and took his bag. 

“Well, that's it. It's been nice these past few days,” he brought two fingers at his forehead and waved them away in a goodbye. 

Stiles opened his mouth to say something but he didn't know what so he just said, “Bye...” 

Jackson walked to the door but stopped right before stepping out of the door.

“Stiles...” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow at the man's tone. 

“Y-yes?” 

Jackson grinned widely. “You didn't answer me. Will you miss me?” 

Stiles blushed a bit and looked away. “Uhm, I guess so,” he crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks cutely, then offered a small smile.

Jackson had this kind of effect on him, he couldn't keep a straight face around him for too long. 

The man seemed satisfied as his smile became less sarcastic and more sincere. 

“Don't miss me too much, we'll meet again,” he wiggled his eyebrows. 

“Sooner than you think!”

And with that, he was gone. Stiles shook his head with a smile plastered on his lips and went back to his breakfast. 

_...._...._

He felt the soft skin under his rough fingertips, covered in calluses from all those years holding weapons and all kind of cruel objects. He kept running his palm over the pale smooth surface without even realizing, his mind still in that place between sleep and awake. 

He felt something brushing against his neck and realized it was the soft cascade of brown hair. Eyes still half-closed, he looked down and drank in the sight of a pair of full pink lips and a small nose, closed eyes framed by long eyelashes. Stiles looked ethereal in the soft morning lights and Derek stared at the sight in wander. 

  
The boy was laying on his belly on top of him, completely naked. Derek covered his lower half with the white sheet and slipped a hand under it, going down until he reached a couple of familiar round cheeks. 

He grinned and caressed the skin, pressing his fingertips here and there maybe a bit too hard but he couldn't resist. One finger reached the loosened little hole in between the soft cheeks and Derek could feel it was still wet there. 

He caressed the small ring of muscles, gaining a quiet moan from the sleeping boy. His morning erection was fully reacting to the situation, but he didn't want to wake Stiles. Not yet. He liked it like that, he didn't get many chances to just lay in bed and relax together with such a pleasant company. 

But his worries were in vain, for Stiles opened his eyes just a moment later. He blinked twice against the light and stretched a bit, in a way that reminded Derek of a cat. Then he raised his eyes on the older man and smiled. 

“Good morning...” his voice sounded weak but incredibly sweet. 

Derek watched as Stiles reached out for his lips and gave him his usual 'good morning kiss', . It was the best way to start the day but he would never admit it...   
He leaned forward to deepen the kiss and Stiles moaned sweetly-

  
Derek woke up all of a sudden, sitting up on his bed, drenched in sweat. 

He looked around, wondering why he was alone in his room. The warmness of Stiles' body felt so real it took a while for him to realize it was just a dream. 

He didn't know if he had ever had a dream like that before, he didn't usually remember his dreams. Actually, he didn't usually dream, for his sleep was mostly populated by darkness or nightmares. 

  
He ran a hand through his messy and slightly wet hair, feeling the need for a shower. 

He could hear voices from outside the room so he got up and as he was about to open the door he heard Jackson's voice very clearly. 

“ _Will you miss me?_ ” 

Derek rolled his eyes. He lost count of how many times he had told Jackson to leave Stiles alone, the kid didn't like that kind of-

 _“I guess so,”_ a soft voice was heard, followed by a laugh.

  
Derek took a step back from the closed door and at the same time he heard Jackson leaving.

  
He didn't realize Jackson and Stiles had bonded so much. Probably more than how much he and Stiles had bonded. But this was his own fault, of course. 

Five minutes later he was under the hot stream of the shower which washed away everything but his thoughts. 

Why would he care about bonding with Stiles anyway?

At first, his purpose was solely to get rid of the Organization, and since Stiles happened to be in danger for the same reason, he had mindlessly decided to keep him under his protection. 

But he hadn't planned to bond with him. Actually, bonding could only be dangerous in that kind of situation. His mind had to be driven only by rationality and not by emotions. 

  
Still... something had changed the night of the kiss. Derek had been telling himself that it was just a plan, a technique, but the more he thought about it the more he realized he could have done so many other things instead of a kiss. 

He started wondering if maybe he wanted that kiss. Every time he asked himself that question he would immediately shut off his brain, which was also the reason why he had been ignoring all of Stiles' stares and questions for the past few days. 

The kid wanted answers that Derek didn't have. Answers that he couldn't give him.

  
He leaned his forehead against the cold wall of the shower and sighed. 

The situation was getting way more complicated that he had expected. He never planned to take the kid with him in the first place. He never planned to protect him. He never planned to care about him or to grow to like... 

  
He opened his eyes at the realization. No. That couldn't be. That thought had to get out of his head. It was better for the both of them. He was going to end that drama and take control over his life and heart again. He lived well without feelings for years and he wasn't going to change now. 

_...._...._

That night, after another silent dinner, Stiles saw Derek putting on his black leather jacket over a white tee and heading for the door. 

His voice came out before he could help himself.

“W-where are you going?” 

Those were the first words he had said to the man in days. He got up from the couch and followed Derek at the door. Derek barely turned around. 

“I'll be back later,” he just said. “In case of emergencies you know what to do. The cellphone is on the table.”

  
Stiles wasn't even thinking about his safety. Derek looked more handsome than usual – he blushed at the thought – and he could smell the bittersweet scent of his cologne. He had never seen him wearing cologne. He felt a lump in his throat. 

“Where are you going?” He asked again, his voice croaking. He knew the answer, but he wanted Derek to deny it.

  
Derek glanced at him just for a moment. His eyes were darker than usual. 

“See you later,” and he was out of the door.

Stiles was left looking at the closed door. 

_...._...._

“For you I can do it for free, you know”

Derek just smirked, slightly moving the drink in his hand in small circles while he enjoyed the view.

There were at least three girls fighting to gain his full attention and probably his full something-else.

He had missed those nights. It had been a while since he'd last been in one of his favorite nightclubs. 

This one had the best girls (and boys, for sometimes Derek felt like satisfying the other side of himself), and right now he had three of the sexiest ones rubbing against his body. 

He sat like a king on the wide comfy couch in the private room, two glasses already empty on the table. 

One of the girls was pole-dancing in the corner, practically fucking him with her cat eyes; the other two were trying hard to please him in order to be chosen for the night. Derek was used to their tricks and enjoyed those moments. 

He felt at ease there: no feelings, just the most primitive of the desires. No heart involved, just the pleasure of the body. He could get that, it was something he understood very clearly. 

  
Feelings, on the other side, were something almost completely obscure to him. He preferred not to have any because he couldn't even understand his own feelings, let alone other people's.

“I can't believe you need to pay girls,” one of the strippers said, looking closely at Derek's face. “You're so handsome, if you choose me you won't regret it for the rest of your life,”   
she winked in a malicious way, running a perfectly manicured hand over Derek's thigh. 

The man grinned but before he could do anything the other girl was sitting on his lap and practically pushing her curvy chest into his face. 

“I can do things you can't even imagine, if you choose me I can show you,” she whispered in his ear. 

Derek finished his drink, feeling aroused and uncomfortable at the same time. All of a sudden it didn't feel right to be there. 

Not that he didn't like what he was seeing, his body was reacting pretty naturally in front of those beautiful girls, but something in his chest had been raging since the very first moment he had stepped in the club, telling him to leave everything and everyone and go home. 

He started getting frustrated at his own self. It had been days, weeks, since he had started feeling not really like himself and he hated it, but somehow it also felt good. And he hated himself for it, in a neverending cycle of frustration and self-hatred. 

All because of Stiles Stilinski. 

Derek growled and tried to forget about the damn kid for just five minutes, tried to fight against the urge to run back home. He needed that night for himself. He was even having dreams about him,

 _what could possibly be worse than that?_

He needed to release some stress. It felt like it had been ages since he last had a night for his personal pleasure.

“How about you both come to my room,” he said, getting up and looking at the girl in the corner. 

He smirked, “You too.” 

He stepped out of the privet with all the best intentions to make that night a good one. 

_...._...._

It was dawn when Derek finally unlocked the door to the flat and slipped inside without making a sound. 

The living room was dark, but his eyes were used to darkness and he immediately spotted a thin figure sitting near the window. 

Stiles turned around, an empty cup in his hands which was probably filled with coffee not long before. 

He took the phone from the table to check the time, then left it there and got up. 

“Welcome back,” he said quietly.

  
“What are you doing still awake?” Derek asked, feeling frustration building up again inside him. 

In the end, it had been a rough night and not exactly how he had expected it to go, so he didn't feel relaxed.

Stiles just got closer and was hit by an unusual scent coming from the hitman. 

Woman's perfume, without a doubt. 

He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip in realization. He had spent the whole night thinking about everything that had happened – or not happened – between them and trying to convince himself Derek hadn't gone where he thought he had gone. 

But in the end, the worst scenario was always the right one.

“It really didn't mean anything to you, did it?” He spitted before he could help it. 

Derek pretended not to understand what Stiles was referring to. 

“It's late, go to sleep,” he headed to his room only to find his way blocked by the younger boy. 

He started losing his patience.   
“Listen here kid...” 

“No, you listen!” 

Stiles pushed him back slightly. 

“You can't just do what you want and then ignore the consequences, you know that right? What was that? A whim of the moment? A technique? Oh, you never told me it was just a way to distract the agents, and then you went out having fun with who knows how many whores in the city just two days later!” 

He was hardly breathing in between words but he needed to get that weight out of his chest. He had been keeping everything caged inside and it was slowly destroying him. 

He didn't want to have one of his attacks, he didn't want to break down and cry or pass out or just give up on that. 

He wanted to see through it, he wanted to know the truth behind Derek's behavior. He wanted to know if what he had seen in Derek's eyes was true, he wanted to know it wasn't another of his failures. He didn't want Derek to be another 'bad one'.   
He had had enough bad luck for a lifetime.

“Do I look that worthless to you? So worthless to use me like that and then throw me away and ignore me? Why didn't you just kill me if I am so insignificant to you? 

Have you ever thought for a moment, just a moment, that the reason why I returned that kiss is because I wanted it more than I could say with words and not because I was just backing you up? Have you ever thought for a moment of me as... as a man, and not as a child you protect out of whim?” 

Stiles blushed slightly and looked away just for a moment. 

“That kiss... meant everything to me. I can't accept that it was just a game for you. But the way you've been ignoring me since then and... from what you did tonight... I guess you've never thought of me as a... as someone special to you,” the smile that formed on his lips was sad and crooked.

“Hell, you probably never think about me at all.”

Stiles backed away slowly, feeling suddenly really embarassed. He hated the way he was feeling right now. He regretted the outburst. It's not like Derek would understand him anyway. 

He wanted to run away and never come back to that place again. He couldn't even face Derek. 

“I don't- I don't even know what I'm saying. I guess it's just better if...” he trailed off, hugging his own waist as to protect himself from the world. 

Derek hated the sight. He couldn't help it, he hated seeing the boy so fragile. He hated Stiles for what he was doing to him but he hated himself even more for not being able to properly show his feelings.

He closed his eyes and sighed. 

_Yes, feelings_. 

He couldn't deny it, he felt something. Something that was probably behind the reason why he had left the nightclub hours ago without concluding anything and had been wandering through the dark streets all night, lost in his thoughts and frustrated beyond words.

“I wish I had never accepted that job for you,” Derek said, avoiding eye-contact with him. 

In that moment, Stiles learned what it really meant to feel his own heart breaking in a million pieces.

He just stared at Derek with wide eyes, unable to say anything. Derek never talked much, and the last thing he had expected was for him to say such a thing. 

His hands were shaking so he clenched them in fists trying to control his emotions. He thought Derek understood him at least a little bit, but he was so wrong. 

The most frustrating thing was to stand there in front of the man like a fool; 

he wanted to destroy everything around him and run away, but he couldn't. He was trapped in there with him, and this was maybe the worst thing. He couldn't even pour out his anger and sadness. 

  
Then, suddenly, he felt rough fingers running along his jaw. As he looked up again , Derek was looking at him with such intensity he felt scared and excited at the same time.

The hitman brushed his thumb across his lips and slowly pushed him against the wall. 

Stiles' mind was panicking, unable to process what was happening and why Derek was acting like that after telling him those cruel words. 

He raised a hand to push him away but Derek promptly trapped his thin wrist against the wall near his face and cupped his now warm cheek with his free hand.

It all happened in a matter of seconds but Stiles lived it in slow-motion.  
When Derek's lips finally met his own he felt like a huge wave of relief had just washed away everything that happened and every single one of his worries. 

He stayed there with his eyes wide open, looking at the hitman's long eyelashes framing his closed eyes, even though the man was so near it was all mixed up and blurry. 

He felt the warm lips moving on his own dry ones, his tongue trying to find access to his mouth.

His heart threatened to explode, it echoed in his head, in his ears and on his lips as well. Blood pumping crazily through every inch of his body. It was beating so hard he felt almost deaf when he finally closed his eyes and granted Derek the access he wanted. 

The hitman slipped his tongue inside and explored every corner, like he had to make a map of Stiles' mouth and remember it for a lifetime. 

Stiles sighed and pushed his tongue against the man's one, without any shame. He suddenly felt hungry for that contact he had been craving for what felt like an eternity. 

The kiss was maybe more passionate than the one they shared outside of the restaurant, and it surely felt incredibly more real.   
Stiles could feel how much Derek actually wanted it this time. 

As soon as the hitman released Stiles' wrist, his hands went grabbing the back of his jacket, fingers sinking in the black leather like his life depended on it. 

Derek's body was pressing against his own and the atmosphere was getting hot. Way too hot too handle. They were devouring each other with their mouths like hungry animals, their lips getting wet and swollen in the process. 

Stiles felt Derek's hand in his hair at some point, keeping him in place as he bit his lips with ferocity. 

It was the most arousing kiss Stiles ever had and he felt breathless. So breathless he had to stop and make some distance between them at some point. 

He touched his blood red lips with trembling fingers, hardly believing what had just happened. 

Derek made a step back to let him breathe and licked his own wet lips slowly.

“Do you still think you never cross my mind?” He asked with his raspy voice that sounded even thicker than usual somehow. 

Stiles swallowed hard and shook his head, not a single word escaping his lips. 

Derek smirked and turned on the lights, making some of the magic go away. He went to the kitchen counter to pour himself some coffee. 

Stiles couldn't take his eyes off his lips. The lips he had just kissed. He had just kissed Derek and this time it was not a technique, not a plan to distract someone else. 

Derek kissed him because he wanted to. 

And now he was just sipping coffee like nothing had happened. 

Stiles found himself thinking it was so like Derek to do something like that, he didn't even feel angry about it. Instead, he smiled widely and joined him at the kitchen table. 

  
Derek took a sip from his black coffee, all thoughts warded out of his mind. It had been a long night and he didn't want to think about what had just happened, not now.

He needed some rest and he felt already somewhat relaxed just by looking at Stiles' expression.

He had never seen him smiling widely like that, and somehow it was affecting him too.

He realized he wanted to see that smile more often, but it was such a cheesy thought he felt almost disgusted by himself and took another sip of his black coffee hoping to regain some of his coldness and bitterness. 

Unlike Stiles, he didn't feel like the situation between them was going to be anything less than a problem. He was literally putting both their lives in danger when he should have been doing nothing but the contrary.

He needed a cigarette. Or maybe two. Stiles was still stealing glances at him from behind his cup, maybe waiting for him to say something. So he decided to tell him exactly what was on his mind. 

“You're gonna regret this,” he stated without beating around the bush.

“We both will. You probably don't get it, but this kind of things...”   
he couldn't bring himself to say 'feelings', 

“always cause troubles in my kind of job.” 

He looked away, omitting part of his thoughts: _and I swore I would protect you. Even before my own self_.

Surprisingly, Stiles just smiled. Maybe he didn't fully get what Derek was saying or maybe he was just too happy to let serious talks ruin his mood.

“It's okay,” he said, putting his cup on the table and tracing the border with one finger, a small smile always lingering on his lips. 

“We're in this together anyway, right? I know I'm useless but... if I can help in any way, I want to do it. And I think I'm getting a bit braver?” 

He laughed. “I mean I don't know how many people want us dead, but this is the situation anyway. I don't think we can make it worse, can we?” 

He looked at Derek with smiling eyes and sipped a bit more of his coffee. Derek attempted a crooked smile and let him finish his drink without saying anything else. 

He didn't fully agree with the boy, but for the rest of that night maybe, just maybe, they could leave their problems outside of their little home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What have I done!😱 lol


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out! for : Domestic violence

The weather was cold and just a bit more windy than Derek had expected, but it didn't affect him in any way. 

He had his gunsight well-aimed and his finger on the trigger was as firm as a surgeon's. He just needed to wait a bit more. 

It was almost impossible to see him from the street below. He was well-hidden on that high roof-top, his outfit consisting in solely black clothes, beanie included. 

  
It was getting dark and the sky was cloudy. It was probably going to rain soon and he wanted to complete the job as soon as possible. Luckily He didn't have to wait much longer. 

A middle-aged man in a long elegant dark grey coat came out from the 5-star hotel on the other side of the street. He looked confident, almost arrogant in the way he was speaking with his driver and assistants. 

Derek smirked: if only he knew those were going to be his last words, maybe he would have been nicer to those people. Or maybe not. It didn't really matter anyway, he surely had plenty of time to be nice to others and since he hadn't, for Derek it was enough proof to say he was just another asshole in a world populated with assholes.

  
Hence why he pulled the trigger of his sniper without hesitation. From the gunsight he saw the bullet go through the man's forehead and end up stuck in the wooden door of the hotel along with his brains while he crumbled on the concrete like a lifeless doll. 

  
_Quick, flawless, clean._

  
That was the way Derek accomplished his jobs. His inner demons were satisfied, for now. 

He put the sniper back in his bag and he had disappeared from the rooftop before the first scream could be heard rising from the street. 

  
_Easy money_

_...._...._

_The kitchen looked like one of those houses on sale that could be seen on leaflets. Modern, clean, accessorized. Shiny metallic surfaces, not a single touch of color. Perfectly functional and perfectly anonymous._

_Stiles always thought their kitchen never looked like a family kitchen. It was cold and soulless._

_Also he was allowed to criticise it because he was the one who had spent the last two hours cleaning it all up thoroughly and carefully._

_He looked around once more, letting that coldness sink in._

When did he start feeling like that?

_“Are you even listening?”_

_Sitting at the long gray plexiglass table in the middle of the room, was his husband , the love of his life, who kept spitting terrible words Stiles could never imagine he would hear from him._

_He barely dared to look him in the eye. He was scared._  
_When did he start feeling like that?_

_“What's wrong?” He asked, his voice sounded more tired than he expected. It surprised him and scared him._

_Kevin was going through the massages on Stiles' phone again._

_Stiles felt nauseated because of his phone for the first time in his life._

_His husband probably had scrolled through those chats a thousand times in the last 30 minutes._

  
_“It would be quicker to say what's not wrong. Explain this to me, Stiles, if you like,” he sounded irritated and sarcastic and Stiles felt annoyed by his tone of voice._

_The man was showing him one of his recent chat with Brian._

_He was friends with Brian way back in high school._  
_They met coincidentally in a shop a few days ago and exchanged numbers._

_He never thought it would be a problem until now._

_But Kevin was not amused at all._

_That morning Brian had texted him asking if Stiles wanted to hang out with him later, like a reunion. It was nothing complicated. All of their friends would be there too._

_Then Kevin somehow seen the conversation and started yelling at Stiles._

_“Please Kevin, it's nothing... I just made plans with my friends. Lydia is going to be there too ” Stiles said like an old record playing over and over._

_“I'm tired of this. You get angry over every little thing. Whenever I meet, call, or even text my friends you yell at me. what the hell? You weren't like this when we first met, why are you complaining now?”_

_He was suddenly bewildered by the reminiscence of that old memory. He didn't understand the man at all._

  
_“That was before we got married,” the older man simply stated._

_He slammed the phone on the table, startling Stiles. “Do you expect me to accept that my husband is a whore who goes after any man who shows the slightest of interest?”_

  
_Stiles' eyes went wide with disbelief at those words._

_“A whore?” He stood up and threw his hands in the air, frustrated and furious._

_“How can you say something like that to me?”_

_He looked at his husband with fire in his eyes. He was both sad and angry, the worst of combinations._

  
_He didn't know what was happening to their relationship but lately Keven had been getting more and more violent._

_He would get irritated for nothing and he would spit orders at Stiles all the time. He spent more nights who-knew-where than at home with him._

_They hadn't been intimate with each other in weeks and Stiles was starting to wonder if maybe he did have a secret lover._

_The older man also got up, anger pouring from his every feature._

_Stiles instinctively stepped back, there was a table separating the spouses but Kevin was an imposing man and that miserable meter between them didn't prevent him from grabbing Stiles by his arm and twist._

_Stiles struggled to free himself, eyes feeling with pained tears. He was terrified at the sudden turn of events._

_"Please, let me go! It's hurting!" He pleaded and tried to loosen the grip with his other hand._

_His nails scratched against Kevin's hands leaving a little bloody trail._

_The man looked down at his slightly bleeding fist and then at Stiles, eyes blazing with fury._

_His hands left Stiles' arm and the next thing he knew it was slapping Stiles' face so hard he slumped onto the floor from the hit._

_He looked up at his man with wide eyes, tears now rolling down freely , as he hold his red, throbbing cheek with one trembling hand._

  
_He couldn't believe Kevin had slapped him. He had never raised a hand on him before until that moment._

_Kevin was looking at him with raging eyes._

_“This,” he said, picking up the phone, “-is what a whore like you deserve.”_

_He threw the phone at Stiles' direction._

Stiles got up so fast his head started spinning right away.

  
He heard a light thud and noticed the book he was reading had fell on the floor. He picked it up with trembling hands and laid back against the soft pillow of the couch, trying to relax.

It was just a dream, or better, a memory. 

  
Memories that were constantly hunting him as soon as he closed his eyes and he could do nothing about it. 

A moment later he heard steps outside the door and he realized he had been woken up by the sound of a bike down the street.   
He smiled.

Derek walked into the flat with his black beanie completely covering his forehead and ears. He wore a black turtle-neck under his black heavy winter jacket, black trousers and black boots. 

  
As always, black was dominating his whole outfit and Stiles couldn't complain. That color, along with that elegant turtle-neck, made him look dangerous and extremely sexy at the same time.

The hitman made a few step towards the couch, where Stiles was now sitting with his back straight and his hands slightly fidgeting with the strings of his pants. 

  
He felt extremely nervous every time Derek approached him and his face was already heating up just at his sight. 

“Uhm, welcome back,” he blabbed, happy to see Derek looked fine. 

He knew he had been out for a job so, of course, he had been worried the whole time. Derek looked down at him and Stiles felt so little in front of his imposing height, most of all now that he was sitting down.

Derek leaned down, lowering the collar of his jacket to uncover his mouth. His black eyes met Stiles' ones for a split second before he pressed his lips against the younger's ones.

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed happily. Derek's lips were as cold as ice after staying out for so long, but it was pleasant anyway. 

  
His hands ran inside Derek's collar, massaging his cold nape and pulling the beanie from his messy hair. He was ready to take the kiss a step further but Derek had other plans. 

  
He stepped back, lips curled in a smirk before disappearing into his room.

Stiles dug his fingers in the black beanie left on his lap and pouted, though he couldn't help but feel warm and content inside. 

“Derek...” he got up and walked into Derek's room just to see the door of the bathroom closing behind the hitman. 

His clothes were scattered on the bed, his bag in the usual corner, the light scent of gunpowder impregnating the small room. 

  
Stiles remembered that first night with Derek on his bike, the first time he smelled that scent on the hitman's jacket. It felt like ages ago, emotionally speaking. And now, here they were. 

Stiles didn't know where or how exactly, but they were. It was something.

  
He didn't want to leave the man's room, he felt like staying there for a little longer, so he used the time to tidy up Derek's clothes and just lurk around like the curious cat he was, but carefully avoiding the weapons because he had learned his lesson the previous time.

  
When Derek came out of the bathroom, he found his clothes carefully folded on his bed. He raised an eyebrow and walked into the living room where Stiles was reading a book while pouring himself some tea. 

“You didn't have to do that,” he stated, passing behind him to reach the old coffee pot that had probably seen better days.

He certainly wasn't the 'tea' type.

  
Stiles raised both his eyebrows in one of his unwillingly exaggerated funny expressions. 

“What do you mean?” 

Derek's lips twitched for a second, or maybe it was just Stiles' imagination. He looked somehow uncomfortable, and the younger man was surprised he could tell that from the hitman's expressionless face. 

“You don't have to do stuff. Cleaning the place...”

  
“But we can't live in the chaos”

  
“...cooking...” 

“ Warming up some instant noodles every now and then is not cooking, is it?”

  
“...folding my clothes.”

Stiles looked up from his tea cup to meet Derek's eyes with a puzzled expression on his face.

  
“You're telling me that because it really bothers you or is it because you're afraid one day I would wake up and feel like I'm your personal maid or something and get mad?”

  
Derek put the coffee pot on the burner without taking his eyes off it. 

Stiles smiled. “It's not like you're forcing me, Okey? I honestly don't know what to do all day and you're doing so much for me, I feel like re-paying you in some way. I noticed you don't really care about the maintenance of this house so I thought I could do that in your place. I'm also a decent electrician, you know?”   
He laughed softly.

  
Derek said nothing but stole a glance at Stiles before pouring some coffee into his cup. 

Stiles pretended he didn't notice while he took a sip of his tea.

  
“I don't see it as a burden nor I see myself less manly or whatever for doing it,” he checked on Derek's expression and saw that lip-twitching again. 

“I just like to keep things in order, I used to do it back at home...” he had to stop himself because that word sounded too bitter on his tongue. 

  
He took a deep breath, “...I used to do it... there... too.” He shook some dark thoughts out of his head. 

“So don't worry about it.” he finished with a small smile.

  
Derek's eyes lingered on Stiles' lowered head a bit longer before he nodded and concentrated on the cup of coffee. 

  
“You think you could ever teach me how to use a gun?” 

Derek almost spat his coffee but managed to maintain his straight face just in time.

He turned to Stiles who was now looking at him with innocent eyes full of curiosity. 

  
“Why?” 

He asked before he could stop himself. That sounded so stupid even to his own ears. 

Stiles' expression seemed to confirm just how dumb his question was. 

  
“Well, isn't it obvious?” He grinned. 

  
“You don't need to know how to use a gun,” Derek said. 

The black coffee in his mouth was leaving a flavor way more bitter than he expected, or maybe it was because of the conversation. 

  
_You don't even need to go near a gun. In any way. This is why I'm protecting you._

  
Stiles huffed a laugh and leaned with his back to the kitchen counter. 

“I think I do,” he sounded way more sarcastic than Derek could handle. 

Their first kiss had mysteriously made that little kid think he could drop every caution when dealing with Derek and the hitman still wasn't sure if he liked it or not. 

Derek poured the rest of his coffee in the sink and slammed the cup on the counter. 

A quick gesture that told Stiles how much the hitman wasn't enjoying that conversation. 

He didn't know what had made the man so furious, but he didn't want to insist further. At least for that day.

“I have something to do this afternoon,” 

Derek spoke suddenly. He looked at Stiles with a serious expression. 

“You're coming with me.” 

It didn't look he was giving Stiles any choice, but Stiles was happy everytime they could go somewhere outside together so he wasn't going to complain.

“Where are we going?” He asked, full of curiosity. 

_Since when did Derek want to involve him in his business?_

It was awkward but also exciting, in a way. 

  
Derek didn't answer and turned to go back to his room. Stiles could swear he saw a little grin forming on his lips before the door closed behind him. 

_...._...._

The man going by the name of Vernon Boyd lived in a fancy condo at the top of a fancy building in maybe the fanciest part of the city.

  
Everything from the floor to the ceiling screamed wealth. The floor was covered in Persian carpets, and where it wasn't, it revealed the elegant parquet underneath. 

The walls were painted in white and covered with numerous fine pieces of modern art and some old classics. 

Stiles almost believed they were the originals, until he realized it would be too much even for the richest man in the world. 

  
Derek stepped inside the place like he was a regular there, but from the way he looked around Stiles sensed he probably didn't meet this Vernon Boyd person that much. 

Stiles carefully stepped inside behind him, trying hard to keep his eyes off Derek and his casual clothes: a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater, white sneakers. 

Derek looked like any other average man his age that day, something that Stiles found irresistible not sure why. 

Maybe it was the way the sweater stretched deliciously on his broad shoulders or his black hair messy enough to look perfectly sexy, or the attractive scent of his aftershave (which Stiles had the chance to smell just a couple of minutes ago in the elevator, where Derek may or not may have kissed him). 

  
As for Stiles, he had tried to look attractive for the occasion. It was the first time he and Derek went out together after the infamous kiss. 

It felt a bit like an official... something. Not a date, but something nonetheless. 

  
Hence why he was wearing a nice white turtle-neck and a pair of light skinny jeans that wrapped perfectly around his long legs. His brown hair were combed in a 3:7 hairstyle that gave him a more masculine and sexy look. He hoped all his efforts didn't go unnoticed by Derek. 

“Look! My favorite motherfucker!” A laugh echoed through the big apartment. Stiles recognized the voice as the one they had heard on the intercom, the one belonging to Vernon Boyd.

From the way the condo was furnished, Stiles already had an idea of how the owner of such a luxurious place might look. 

He pictured a middle-aged man in a white tuxedo, a serious but kind face, smiling eyes full of crow's-feet and a deep soothing voice. 

A fatherly-like figure, all in all. 

What could a person like that had to do with Derek, was still a mystery. 

That was why, when Vernon Boyd finally appeared, Stiles felt really confused and maybe a bit disappointed. 

Boyd had nice eyes, indeed. But that was pretty much the only thing he had in common with the fatherly-figure Stiles had imagined. 

He was a build muscular man around Derek's age maybe, a little bit younger, and his style had nothing to do with the apartment he lived in: white sneakers, skinny jeans and a dark blue hoodie at least two sizes larger than necessary. 

  
He went for an high five, which Derek carefully avoided sending him his usual death glare. 

Boyd immediately raised his hands in resignation, pretending to be offended. 

“Why so cold? I've missed you.” 

  
Derek almost rolled his eyes and Stiles felt shocked in realizing Vernon Boyd was as tall as Derek. 

He was a handsome man and an extremely attractive one also with those high cheekbones and thick hair hidden under a NY snapback.

“It's been a while,” Derek just said. 

Boyd was not paying attention to him anymore. 

“Who's your friend?” He asked, waving his hand at Stiles' direction like a child would. 

Stiles awkwardly and slowly waved back. 

“I'm Stiles, nice to meet you.” 

  
Boyd clicked his tongue and nodded at him while looking at Derek. 

“Learn some manners from him,” he grinned.

“Don't cross the line,” Derek reminded him. 

Stiles thought Boyd looked like someone who crossed the line whenever he wanted, without asking for permission.   
He wondered if Derek only became friend with people who could stand their ground against him.

  
“What brings you here, my friend?” Boyd cut short, hands in his pockets. 

There was suddenly a loud coughing behind the three men; Derek and Stiles looked over Boyd's shoulders and noticed another man, dark brown hair and little eyes.   
He had his eyes set on Stiles.

“Oh, yes,” Boyd wrapped one arm around Stiles' shoulders and smiled. 

“This is James. He was just leaving, so we can talk in private. Come,” he gestured for Derek to follow him. 

James cleared his throat, “Actually I was wondering if I could have some coffee before leaving,” his voice was deep, but not as deep as Derek's. 

Stiles doubted anyone could have a voice as deep as the hitman's though.

“It's been a long day, you know?” He smiled at Boyd, his eyes lingering on Stiles for a split second. 

“That's fine, the kitchen is that way,” 

Boyd patted Derek's shoulders. “We have some business to do-- Stiles,”

The young boy shot his head up with wide eyes. 

“Make yourself at home in the meantime,” the man smiled warmly, easing Stiles' nervousness.

Stiles relaxed and smiled back, nodding slowly.

Derek turned around and nodded once at his direction, as to re-assure him he would be back soon. 

It was clear Stiles wasn't invited to their reunion.

  
“Do you want some coffee?”

Stiles turned to that James guy. He seemed nice but Stiles knew better than to trust a random stranger. 

Still, that was simply a coffee.

“Why not,” he smiled, making some steps towards him, intending to help. 

James raised a hand to stop him.

“Make yourself comfortable, I'll be right back,” his smile was wide and friendly.

  
Stiles nodded absentmindedly, plopping himself on the wide couch in Boyd's living room and wondered why everyone seemed to worry about him not being comfortable enough. 

He looked around and wondered what Derek and Boyd were doing in the other room. He didn't even know which room, the place was huge. He couldn't even hear their voices anymore. 

_...._...._

“Who's that guy?” 

Derek and Boyd walked into what looked like another living room. It was luxuriously decorated just like the rest of the condo. 

Every wall was covered with tapestries picturing different scenes and subjects. 

Boyd was looking at the one representing a big lion in the middle of a jungle. He turned around and smiled innocently at Derek. 

“A client, what else?” 

Derek had his hands in his pockets.   
“He looks like someone who wouldn't hurt a fly.”

  
“He's just a middle-man,” the other man carelessly waved his hand while speaking. Then he turned around again and sent a sarcastic glare at Derek.

“You know, people who have money don't usually come personally, they have subordinates to do this kind of stuff for them,” 

  
He turned to the tapestry again, shifting one side to reveal some kind of security system. 

Boyd put his thumb on the screen and typed in the code as fast as light. A 'beep' later the wall was slowly moving aside to show an hidden room. 

Both men walked in and the wall closed behind them. 

“That would imply trusting other people outside of myself, and it's the most stupid thing anyone can do,” Derek replied, looking around the room. 

He hadn't been there in a while and he was always glad to visit Boyd's little bunker. 

The metallic walls were composed of numerous shelves and every single corner of the room was full of every kind of weapon one could ever imagine.

Boyd shook his head with a smile. Derek would never change and he couldn't blame him.

“Besides,” Derek went on, walking around the room and checking on this or that weapon every now and then, 

“I like to choose my weapons carefully.” He grinned dangerously. 

Boyd spread his arms as to embrace the whole room. 

“Have fun, then,” he laughed.

  
“Actually, I have a list,” Derek replied, pulling a piece of paper out of his pockets. 

“I need this stuff as quickly as possible.” 

Boyd raised an eyebrow and took the paper, reading through it while his eyes widened. 

“What-- all of this stuff? Are you planning a mass-murder or something?” He laughed again.

  
Derek wasn't even smirking. “You think you can do it?” 

Boyd stopped laughing and looked through the list again, stealing a glance at Derek every now and then. 

“I guess that means it's better if I don't know the answer to my question.”

Derek looked annoyed, so Boyd quickly added, 

“Of course I can do it. Who do you think I am? Did I ever let you down, you ungrateful fucker?” He looked offended. 

  
Derek grinned. “Now show me some of your new toys if you don't mind.”

Boyd grinned back, “I knew we spoke the same language.” 

_...._...._

“So you're one of Boyd's friends?” 

Stiles looked up from his coffee and glanced at James' direction . 

They were sitting side by side on the couch, though it was big enough for them to have their own personal space. 

James sat with one knee on the soft leather so that he could face Stiles. 

“Actually, I'm meeting him today for the first time,” he admitted, tracing the side of his cup with one finger.

“Really? Me too!” 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows: that guy sounded way too enthusiastic for such a silly fact. 

He stole a glance at him and hid behind his cup for another sip.

“So you're here because your friend has some business, right?” James went on, the way he underlined the word 'friend' couldn't go unnoticed through Stiles' ears.

  
“I can't really talk about it,” Stiles cut short, looking at where Derek had disappeared more than half an hour ago. 

  
_When are you coming back?!_

  
“Of course, of course. I can't talk about mine either,” the strange man smiled, “but we could talk about ourselves maybe? You seem quite an interesting person, Stiles.”

Stiles blushed a little, feeling more uncomfortable than flattered. That man was shamelessly flirting with him at that point and as always he didn't know how to react. 

  
_Please don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me. Don't touch me or I'll scream_.

  
He regretted not bringing his pills along with him. 

“I really don't know what to say...” he finally whispered. 

James smiled softly. “Sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Maybe you would like to know something about me first?” 

Stiles just nodded slowly, more because that way he could avoid further questions and not because he was really interested in that stranger's story. 

_...._...._

Boyd raised his eyes from the paper and noticed the gun pointed at his head, 

“Very funny,”   
he rolled his eyes and moved away awkwardly.

Derek grinned while lowering the shiny Colt in his hand. He was just playing around with Boyd's new stuff, enjoying the frightened expression on the man's face everytime he pointed a weapon at him. 

Boyd might have been a weapons dealer but he wasn't actually a fan of them and would never use any kind of weapons if it wasn't needed.

But he was a dealer of another kind also, maybe the most common one, and Derek suddenly remembered he might need another favor from him.

“You told me you can provide any kind of drugs,” he started, a question that sounded like a statement. 

Boyd raised his eyebrows. 

“Are you serious? Derek-The-Health-Freak is into that shit now?” 

He shook his head in disbelief. “What happened to you?” 

Derek was playing with the trigger of an unloaded gun pretending like he wasn't paying attention to him. 

“Indeed, it's shit. It fucks with your brain, only losers or someone who doesn't care about doing his job properly could take that kind of thing. And you're the one who sells it,” Derek grinned. “But the drug I'm looking for is among the legal ones - something like that must sound new to you.” 

“You're so funny,” Boyd faked a sarcastic smile. 

“Anyway you know there's very little I can't get my hands on. Just tell me what you need and I'll have it delivered to you with a red bow on top,” he sneered widely.

  
“I'll let you know,” Derek nodded towards the list on the table. “I need that stuff first.” 

“consider It's already done,” Boyd assured him, carefully folding the paper and slipping it in one of his pockets. 

They both left the room and Derek went back to the living room while Boyd locked the bunker again. 

But the scene in front of him made his expression grow colder without him realizing.

That James guy was sitting near Stiles with an arm on the back rest of the couch right behind Stiles' shoulders. 

He was talking non-stop with a flirty smile on his lips while Stiles kept his eyes on his empty cup, nodding every now and then.

His cheeks were red and he seemed to enjoy the one-sided conversation from the way his lips curved in a little smile at times. 

Boyd walked past him. “We're back-- oh, you're still here James-?”

Stiles noticed Derek's presence just then and immediately stood up like he had been doing something suspicious, which made Derek even more annoyed. 

“Y-you're done? Are we leaving?” 

  
Derek just nodded and headed for the door with one last meaningful glance at Boyd, who nodded back and cheekily waved a hand in a goodbye.

Stiles literally ran after him out of the flat, noticing Derek was heading for the stairs though they were twenty floors up in that building. 

“I'll- I'll be taking the elevator!” He shouted in the empty corridor as he watched Derek disappearing down the stairs. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and got into the elevator anyway. 

  
James stepped out of Boyd's flat a couple of minutes later, a smile on his lips and the thought of a certain beautiful boy on his mind. 

He was going to ask Boyd to give him more information about the boy, for example his phone number or his address.

Maybe next time.

He took out his mobile from his pocket and dialed his boss' number. He had to report to him that everything had gone well and they were going to get their first lot of weapons soon. 

He had just enough time to bring the phone to his ear before a hand slammed the mobile against the nearest wall along with his face. 

James cried in pain, his body trapped against the hard surface by someone who was painfully pulling his arm behind his back and twisting it in a way.

“What the fuck?! Let me go!” He whimpered, feeling an unbearable pain in his shoulder. He was afraid that his arm was going to break.

“This time it was your arm,” a deep baritone voice growled into his ear, making him shiver in fear, 

“next time, it'll be your life.” 

James tried to turn his head to see who was threatening him with such a terrifying voice. 

His arm was pulled further back, making him almost scream in pain and he gave up trying to catch a glimpse of his attacker. 

  
“I don't know what you want from me but you must be mistaking me for someone else...” he whispered in shaky breaths . 

“The boy you met today,” the voice growled again, even more aggressively, if possible.

“Forget him. Don't even try to contact him again. Ask about him to Boyd, whisper his name to anyone in this city and I can assure you one thing: I will find you.” 

James blinked twice in confusion, cold sweat dripping from his forehead. He wondered who the hell Stiles really was and why would he find himself in this situation again because of that boy. 

But at least he was now sure of the identity of his attacker.

  
“You're- you're that guy... that guy who was with Stiles, right? D-Der--” another painful pull on his now broken arm made him bite his tongue so hard he felt the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth. 

“Such a smart kid,” the voice sounded dark and sarcastic. “When you'll wake up maybe this will look like just a nightmare.” 

  
James swallowed hard, even more confused. 

“W-wake up from what?”

A sudden blow right into his head and James' world went dark while he crumbled down. 

Derek overstepped the motionless body on the floor and walked into the elevator without even breaking a sweat. 

He pressed the ground floor button and spared one last glance at the knocked out man on the floor.

He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up on his head and slid his hands in his pockets while the metal doors closed in front of him obscuring his view. 

  
Stiles heard the sound of the elevator and turned around, watching as Derek came out of the cabin.

“What took you so long? Didn't you take the stairs?” He asked, puzzled, as Derek walked past without even glancing at him. 

He had his hood pulled so low it almost covered his eyes. It gave him an even darker look than usual. 

“Forgot something up there, I went to pick it up,” were his only words.

It sounded logical so Stiles believed him without much thought.

  
He ran after Derek for the second time that night.

_...._...._

Stiles knew something wasn't quite right. Derek wasn't the talkative type, but he had not spoken a single word for the whole ride home and the whole dinner.

All Stiles' attempts at starting a conversation had been vain. It was a bit too much even for the brooding hitman. 

Derek had something on his mind, Stiles was sure of it. He could see it in the little wrinkles between his eyebrows and in his empty eyes focused on nowhere.

He had tried to talk about Boyd and how he looked like a nice person, but Derek wasn't interested in that topic either, though he seemed to be good friends with him. 

Only once, when he mentioned that James guy, Stiles had seen some kind of dark shadow in Derek's eyes, which reminded him of how he had looked at them back at Boyd's place. 

Cold and aggressive eyes. 

Stiles wondered if Derek was jealous, but quickly shook the thought out of his head.

  
_The hitman, jealous?_ It sounded like a bad joke.

  
“Are you going to bed already?” Stiles asked after seeing Derek throwing the rest of his dinner in the trash and heading for his bedroom. 

Stiles had hoped they would stay up a bit longer and spend some time together.

Derek sent a quick glance at him. 

He was actually fighting with himself. In the aftermath of what he had done to that man, he was questioning his own actions. 

_Why going as far as threatening someone just because he caught him talking to Stiles?_

He had been justifying his own actions by thinking he didn't want that simpleton to spread the word about Stiles. He didn't know what kind of acquaintances he had, he didn't know if the news of where Stiles was hanging could reach the ears of The Nogitsune. 

  
But the more he thought about it, the more he knew there was more than that behind his behavior earlier.

He didn't want to admit that the thought of Stiles with another man made his blood boil.

 _What are you doing, Derek?, he thought to himself, You're fucking up so badly_. 

  
“Yes,” he finally answered, catching the disappointed expression on Stiles' face almost immediately. 

Stiles got up and reached to touch his bare arm, holding his wrist tightly to stop him. 

Derek looked surprised. 

  
“Is something wrong? Please tell me,” Stiles pleaded, looking straight into his eyes. 

He slowly released the grip on the man's wrist, embarrassed by his own boldness.

“I can see you're upset.”

  
Derek wondered how that kid always managed to get his feelings. It was a mystery to him. 

  
He looked at the boy, his generally expressive eyes wide with worry, pink lips pressed in a tight line and some locks of soft brownish hair falling messily around his pale cheeks. 

He stared at the boy for so long, Stiles started blushing and looking around awkwardly.

“W-what?” he asked in a small shy voice.

Derek stepped forward, making Stiles take step back instinctively. 

He kept walking backwards until his knees hit the couch, making him fall and lay down on it. 

He immediately started blabbing something about how he wasn't usually that clumsy and it was the couch's fault. He tried to get up but less than a moment later Derek was on him.

Stiles' eyes went even wider, the whole length of Derek's body pressed on him, he could feel each and every one of his muscles and even more.

He stayed there, frozen, while Derek's black eyes dug into his soul . 

One of Derek's hands moved to cup the boy's face, his rough thumb brushing his red lips and even redder cheek lightly. 

Stiles sank further into the soft fabric of the old couch and tried not to scream or panic. 

His body wasn't reacting the way he wanted, he was frozen in fear while the image of Kevin hovering over him replaced Derek's face. 

He shut his eyes as to delete that image out of his mind.   
He knew Kevin wasn't there, still, he felt his dirty hands all over his body and his words full of hatred in his ear. 

  
“Look at me.” 

A warm voice woke him from his painful memories. 

Stiles slowly opened his eyes. Derek's dark gaze was piercing right through his heart. 

The man leaned down, brushing some tears away from his long eyelashes. He seemed to know what was going through Stiles' mind but his face showed no sign of judgement. 

Stiles stared in awe at Derek's calm gentle face. He just realized how much he trusted that ruthless man.

He closed his eyes again slowly as Derek's lips met his own, making him forget about everything else. 

The man ran a hand gently through his hair and Stiles slowly raised his arms to touch Derek's broad shoulders;   
as Derek bit slightly on his lips asking for access to Stiles' mouth, the latter slid one of his hands under the braces of Derek's white tank top, feeling the warm skin and defined muscles of the hitman's back.

Derek's hands were wandering along Stiles' sides as well, but for some reasons, unknown to Stiles, the hitman didn't push himself too far. His hands never went to any inappropriate places. 

The same couldn't be said for the heated kiss they were sharing. 

Stiles felt like all the air was being sucked out of his lungs; he didn't have time to breathe as Derek proceeded to explore every corner of his mouth with growing hunger. 

He was biting and licking and sucking Stiles' lips like it was his favorite dish and Stiles couldn't keep up.

He moaned again and again, his body unconsciously arching and pressing against the other man's. 

Unbelievable what Derek could do to him with just a kiss. 

He bit Derek's lips hard after a while, signaling his need for air. 

“You know,” he gasped trying to catch his breath. 

“You can't always avoid a discussion this way. Sometimes we need to talk it out.” 

Derek slowly licked his lips, eyeing Stiles like a hunter would eye his prey. Stiles' flavor and scent were enough to make him lose control. He was trying so hard to hold back and not to pounce the boy then and there. 

He grinned dangerously, leaning down again. 

“Can't I?” He asked rhetorically, sliding his tongue in Stiles' mouth again and growling all his frustration on the younger one's tongue. 

Stiles sighed and gave up under the attack, one hand caressing Derek's nape and at the same time making sure the hitman couldn't pull away from their kiss.

He knew they would have to stop at some point, when they would both be needing a break to breathe, but not now. 

Laying there without a single worry in the world, the warmness of Derek's body against his own, his lips devouring his mouth and heart – it was all too good, Stiles thought as he moaned into the man's mouth once again. 

  
“Derek...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was re-reading the chapters and found some weird typos- like WTF!! I need to proof read these babies😂😂


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out! For : Violence; there's blood and stuff.

The wide, metallic shutter rolled up with a series of creaks that signaled how old it had to be. Derek slid under it before it was completely lifted, while Boyd waited until he could walk into the storehouse smoothly.

“Here,” he said, extending one arm as to point at something – in this case, a heap of big boxes. 

They were all piled up and they covered half of the height between the floor and the high ceiling of the storehouse. 

There were some words and codes stamped in black on the wooden surfaces of the boxes. 

Derek looked around, checking the pile quickly but carefully. 

  
“Is that all?” 

Boyd sighed. 

“Really now? You asked for a mountain of shit and here it is. What else did you expect? You couldn't possibly expect more than this, that stuff could be enough for a whole army!” 

Derek's eyes lingered on the boxes a bit longer, then he turned around and smirked at Boyd.

“Don't get all fired up. I was joking.” 

“You don't even know what a joke is,” Boyd replied, annoyed. 

He looked at the boxes again, then he fumbled into one of his pockets and threw a set of keys at Derek, who grabbed it mid-air even though he wasn't even looking. 

“Is it alright then?” The man asked, looking slightly uncomfortable. 

Derek put down the black bag he had been holding all that time and nodded towards it looking straight in Boyd's eyes.

“Why so serious?” Boyd mocked, imitating a famous movie character that Derek didn't probably even know. He was just trying to hide his worries behind some bad joke. 

He always felt awkward when it came to close a deal with Derek, because in that scenario it always looked like they weren't friends , just dealer and buyer. Also Derek would look at him with those cold dark eyes of his that made everyone feel extremely uncomfortable and afraid.

He knelt beside the bag and opened it, revealing the huge amount of banknotes in it. A smile slowly made it's appearance at the corner of his lips. 

His favorite part of the job. 

Boyd took the first pack of banknotes, making a gesture like to count them, and looked up at Derek.

“Can I? Not that I don't trust you but...” He smirked.  
“Well, I don't.”

Derek returned the smirk and let him count all the banknotes, even if it would take a while. He knew Boyd didn't trust anyone when it came to money and he didn't make an exception. 

They were friends but they both knew there were boundaries to the amount of trust they could expect from each other. 

  
He went checking his latest purchase. Slowing licking his lower lip, he took one of the wooden boxes and opened it, revealing the shiny rifles inside. His lips curved in an amused and sick smile.

“Accurate until the last cent,” Boyd called from behind.

Derek turned around to find the other man with the bag in his hand, ready to leave the place.

They walked out of the storehouse and Derek used one of the keys to activate the rolling shutter.

As it closed down in front of them, Boyd patted him on the shoulder. 

“How long has it been since you bought this place? Five years? Bet you didn't clean up, not even once. I was about to have an asthma attack when I first got inside.” 

Derek just grinned, so Boyd went on. 

“Seriously, you should do something about it if you want to keep using it. Too much dust!”

  
“Stop complaining like a pussy,” Derek shoved his hand away from his shoulder. 

  
“Just as I was starting to like you,” he sneered.

  
Boyd blinked twice in surprise. 

“Two jokes in a single day? What happened to you and what's up with all these smiles? You're creeping me out,” he faked a disgusted face, gaining one of Derek's ice stares in return. 

“Is it because of that boy you keep at your place?”

Derek wanted to roll his eyes at the way Boyd referred to Stiles like he was Derek's dog or something. Instead he just reached his bike and wore the helmet that covered his whole face. 

  
“See you.” 

  
Boyd didn't skip a beat. “Not too soon, I hope!”

  
Derek's middle finger greeted him goodbye as the hitman rode away in a cloud of smoke.

  
_...._...._

  
Stiles didn't see Derek much during the last few days. The hitman had been locked up in his room almost all the time. 

Sometimes Stiles would hear him talking on the phone but he never got a single word. He didn't know what Derek was doing but he knew it must've been something important or something that needed his utmost concentration. 

  
So Stiles would try to help by making some food and leaving them on the kitchen table every night before going to sleep. When he woke up next morning the dishes were always empty. 

Well, as long as Derek was at least eating something when working, it was enough to make Stiles happy and to assure him he was fine. 

  
But that morning, he knew something big was happening. Derek left at first daylight, thinking Stiles was asleep but the latter was well-awake and managed to steal a glance at the man before he stepped out of the room. 

  
Derek's black clothes looked thicker than usual, he reminded Stiles of one of those soldiers or spies he would see in movies. 

He wasn't hiding his face and his hair was messy as always. The contrast between his neat clothes and his bed hair was almost hilarious, but it confused Stiles to the core. 

When he heard the door closing behind him, Stiles realized Derek didn't have anything with him, not even his black bag. It was all too weird, but all he could do was wait. 

  
He didn't manage to get back to sleep. 

  
_...._...._

  
The building stood tall in the middle of a deserted area in the suburbs of the city and from the outside it looked exactly like an abandoned hospital or something of the like, but Derek knew better. 

The Nogitsune had peripheral branches all around the borders of America and they all looked like more or less like that. The less attention they captured, the better. 

The branches inside the metropolis, on the other hand, looked exactly like any other skyscraper or business building so it was hard for someone to guess what happened inside without knowing. 

  
The Nogitsune was pretty well organized from this point of view. They were invisible.

Derek was calm. He knew that was going to be the easiest branch to take down. The Organization kept their best men for the branches inside the metropolis. 

In one of them Derek would find Kevin Ito as well. 

His grip on the rifle got tighter at the thought. He couldn't wait for the moment he would carve the heart out of that bastard's chest. 

  
First things first, though. 

_Two guards on the roof_

He grinned and pulled the trigger twice. Death came as silent as the rain falling around him.

  
_Two dead guards on the roof_

  
He had maybe twenty minutes before someone inside the building would realize they couldn't reach those guards through radio anymore. He had to act fast. 

He put away his rifle and ran down the small hill, making sure to hide between the bushes as he reached the base as quickly as possible.

It was getting dark so he knew it was harder to distinguish his black figure for the guards at the door, but they probably didn't need to worry about that: they would be sent to a better place before they could even smell Derek's presence. 

He knew the entrance was on the south side so he ran along the west side and stopped right behind the corner. 

He could hear the guards' voices. He peaked from behind the wall and saw there were two of them: dressed in heavy black clothes and bulletproof vests, in-ear-monitors on and big rifles in their arms.

They looked relaxed, maybe a bit too much even. 

  
Derek smirked. It was so easy. 

He was about to come out when he heard the heavy metal door opening and steps coming outside. 

The guards immediately stopped talking and welcomed the new guest, who must've been some other guard. 

Derek stayed hidden, in silence, trying to capture bits and pieces of their conversation while he fished out his Desert Eagle. 

“The third floor is clear,” one of the guards was saying. 

“Everybody's home already? Why are we the only ones not allowed to rest?” A burst of laughter followed the other man's words.

  
Derek looked up. There were exactly three floors in that building and apparently the top one was empty, which meant less problems but also less people to kill. 

Such a pity. 

Anyway, his plan for the day was to take over the place, find the maps of the other buildings in the metropolis and kill every motherfucker he would find in his way. 

“I'll leave you to your duty now,” the first guard said. “After you're done, come inside before going home. The boss sent over some stuff.”

  
“And we totally deserve a coffee after all these hours freezing our asses off,” the third guard added, making them all laugh. 

Derek thought The Nogitsune used to be way more strict in choosing its security team, but it was none of his business if they were all lazy idiots now. 

He waited until the first guard was back inside the building and the door closed again – it was his moment. 

He silently brought himself behind one of the guards, blocking his upper body with one strong arm while he slit his throat with the sharp knife he had in his free hand – it took him just a second, the blink of an eye. 

Blood spilled everywhere in front of the now dead man, some drops dirtying Derek's leather gloves. The other guard heard the death rattle of his colleague but turned around just a split second too late. 

Derek shot a bullet in his forehead before the guard could even realize his companion was dead.

He stepped over the corpses and shot twice at the door lock, opening it. He walked inside and noticed the entrance corridor was empty as he had expected.

All the guards were probably gathered on the second floor or in front of the main rooms. 

The first thing to do was to deactivate the security system. He could see the cameras on him and he fixed the black bandana that covered half of his face. Even if they would later find out those tapes they wouldn't be able to recognize him. 

He walked fast along the corridor, keeping his back on the wall and the gun loaded in his hands. He passed by one, two, three locked doors and he could hear voices coming from the inside, but his aim was the last door on his left. 

  
**“Access forbidden to all unauthorized persons”**

_Bingo_.

He shot the lock on the door and broke inside, finding a man in front of several computers, each of them showing the recordings of at least nine cameras, but he was focused on the only screen that showed an old comedy tv show and was laughing out loud with his earphones on. 

  
He didn't hear the shot because of the silencer and certainly he didn't notice Derek entering the building either. 

Derek wanted to laugh at the lack of competence but decided to cut short and simply tapped the man on his shoulder. 

The guard almost jumped on his chair and turned around, wide eyes full of shock and ready to laugh at whichever colleague had done that bad prank but he found himself looking straight into the muzzle of Derek's gun. 

  
“Hello,” 

Derek said, shooting a bullet between the guard's eyes just as he was about to open his mouth to scream. Just the nth new blood mark on his clothes and bandana, 

  
“Goodbye.” 

The corpse fell back on the chair, blood slowly streaming down the man's face, his eyes still opened wide even thought they would never see anything again.

Derek put the gun away temporarily and took over the big control panel. He knew what he was looking for, he had seen a similar one years before. 

  
_The two men walking in front of him probably felt threatened. Black suit and ties, hair perfectly combed. They looked like those characters from gangster movies._

_One of them was so short and had such a kind face, Derek wondered how he could possibly be one of Kevin Ito's guards._

_It was none of his business though, he thought while he followed them along the empty corridor. He towered over them, mostly over the short one, and he could feel they were always glancing back at him like they were scared he would stab them any moment._

_Derek wanted to, indeed. He had pictured at least five different ways to kill them in the last two minutes they had spent walking the corridor._

  
_It was something he always did and he couldn't control it. His mind craved murder. He wanted to see blood running over that shiny floor, he wanted to hear prays and death rattles._

Music to his ears _._

  
_But he couldn't. He was there because he was about to be given a job._

  
_They had called him trying to convince him he wasn't their first choice for that kind of matter, that they had 'no other choice' but to call him, even if they had better men for that stuff._

_Derek didn't believe a single word. His reputation went ahead of him. He was the best hitman in the field at the time and surely not a cheap one to hire._

_They probably tried to play the 'last choice' card in hope he would make them pay less or something like that._

_He wondered why, since they were the most powerful organization in USA. He would soon find out anyway._

_He cleared his throat and saw the short man almost jumping and stumbling on his feet._

_His lips curved in a dark line. That was definitely funny, but also pathetic. He didn't want to work for an organization that gave job to such men._

  
_They stopped in front of a metal door with a small screen on one side. The short man pressed his thumb against it, where the screen showed the image of a fingerprint._

_Then he typed in a code. Derek wasn't supposed to see which code, and the man had typed it very quickly, trying to cover the keyboard with his shoulders, but the hitman was too tall and too skilled not to notice the four numbers the man had just typed._

_It must have been a general code, because the other guard that was with them had looked at the keyboard the entire time, so of course the code was no mystery to him as well._

_Derek made sure he wasn't going to forget those four numbers._

Derek looked for the main screen and tapped on it.

**“Access denied Please confirm your identity”**

  
The hitman took the dead man's hand and pressed his thumb against the fingerprint on the screen. 

  
**“Confirmed:** **Lee Mark Please insert code”**

  
Derek smirked. It was as easy as drinking water. He tapped on the keyboard and typed in the four numbers code. He waited for the system to let him in.

  
**“Unknown Code**  
  
**Access Denied”**

  
Derek's eyes widened. 

_Unknown code?_

He was sure that was the right code. He knew the Organization rarely changed codes because no one ever knew about them and if someone who wasn't supposed to know found out, they made sure to eliminate the threat. 

This isn't going according to the plan, a little voice in his head started to tell him. 

He didn't know of any other codes. He couldn't deactivate the alarm system and it was no use to go on without doing it because it would get too dangerous. 

He tried to think fast. He was lucky the alarm system hadn't gone off as soon as he had typed in the wrong code. That gave him a chance to leave the place before anyone knew of his presence.

He slammed his fist against the desk. It had been a failure, he had to find another way and try another day. 

Derek felt ashamed of himself. He wasn't used to failures. 

He looked around the room, glanced at the dead guard and then at the door. There was no other way, he had to let go and leave the place. 

  
A loud beep caught his attention before he could make a step towards the exit. He turned around and looked at the screen again. 

Other words had appeared. 

  
**“Please confirm your identity”**

  
A light blue screen appeared after those words, the image of an eye right at the center of it. Multiple circles were revolving around the pupil of the eye and something was beeping regularly. 

There was a writing under the image: 

**“Security Iris Scanner**

**Please confirm your identity**

**You have 20 seconds left”**

  
If someone typed in the wrong code, the system would automatically redirect them to an Iris Scanner and gave them another chance to confirm their identity - in case they forgot the code, which now was probably personal for every employee. 

No more general codes.

Derek looked at the little number. 

The 20 quickly becoming a 19, a 18, a 17, a 16... it was a countdown.

It wasn't hard to guess what would happen when the countdown would reach the zero. The Organization had changed his security system completely and Derek wasn't the least aware of it.

  
**“10 seconds left”**

  
He turned around, giving his back to the screen. He was fucked. He knew it. There was no way out, he didn't have the time to escape before the alarm would go off. 

  
**“5 seconds left”**

  
He closed his eyes and at the same time shut off the outside world out of his mind. 

He needed some moments to think. 

He tried to calculate which options he could have to save himself but nothing came to his mind. Any option still implied him facing the whole security staff of the building. 

  
**“2 seconds left”**

  
He opened his eyes again and looked at the door. In the end, it was his own fault for underestimating The Nogitsune that much. 

He walked out of the room and fished out his guns. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to without putting up a fight. 

  
**“0 seconds left**

**Access denied**

**Possible threat detected in the building”**

  
A loud siren pierced through his ears. A moment later an unknown number of men in black suits were pouring out in the corridor. 

Derek raised his guns and started shooting as many men as he could from that distance. 

He shot down six of them before running away when they were getting too close. 

He ran for maybe fifteen meters, than slipped into the first corridor he found on his left. If he remembered the map of the building well, there was another exit not far from there.

Bullets were flying through the air, some of them hissed just beside his ears. He twisted his body around enough to point the gun behind him and shoot another couple of bullets blindly while running.

He couldn't stop. 

He turned another corner and saw some men coming out from a opened door a few meters away from him. 

He pointed the gun ahead but it was empty. He threw it behind him and fished out his knife, cutting the throat of a man who tried to jump on him and stabbing another one before he could shoot him. 

He quickly pulled out the bloody knife and shoot other two men with the other gun he had, jumping over the dead corpses he was leaving behind. 

He looked ahead and noticed the exit door at the end of that corridor. 

He was close, he could still make it, even if more and more guards were jumping out from every corner. Every last guard in that building was after him at that point.

He was exhausted and breathless but more men were trying to either shoot him or jump on him every second.

He used one of them as shield to avoid some bullets, then stabbed another one in the eye, gaining more blood stains on his clothes. He didn't care as long as the blood wasn't his own.

  
All those dead bodies were slowing down the guards he left behind but there were still some ahead of him. 

He shot his last bullets and took other four of them down. The exit was right in front of him. He kicked the door open and was already halfway out of the building when he heard another low hiss behind him. 

  
Next thing he knew, a piercing pain was spreading through his lower abdomen. 

_Shit,_ he thought while running outside in the fresh air of the night. It wasn't over, he could still hear voices behind him.

He ran away as fast as he could, entering the woods around the deserted area. He teared away his bandana to get some more oxygen and pressed a hand behind his back, kidney-deep. 

That was when he realized he was bleeding from the front side as well. 

He had been shot twice, if not more. He ran through the bushes but started feeling weaker and weaker. 

It was dark and if he could barely see anything ahead of him in normal conditions, his now clouded sight made impossible for him to see a single thing. 

He was bleeding too much and all of a sudden his legs collapsed without his consent. He fell on the hard ground and coughed blood. 

_Fuck_ , he thought, crawling till the nearest tree. He rested his back against it and fished out the phone from his pocket with his right hand covered in his own blood. 

He opened a new message and typed in two words.

  
_**Deep Red**_

  
He sent the message and let the phone fall to the ground. He was too weak to even hold his damn phone and he found it almost funny. 

He looked up at the night sky, a grin slowly forming on his lips. 

He was so used to being covered in other people's blood that being covered in his own blood now felt almost like a mistake, an accident, something that wasn't supposed to happen. 

A bad ending to a movie that no one would ever understand or accept. 

He thought about Stiles and how he was leaving him alone in a world that was way too cruel for him. 

Then he thought that he was maybe doing him a favor by removing that threat from his life.

Because that is what Derek was in the end, 

_a threat._

Stiles just didn't know yet and maybe it was better that way. 

  
“Fucking asshole,” 

he whispered to himself, trying to laugh it off but ending up coughing more blood. 

A fucking asshole, indeed. Failing so miserably during his first attempt. He could only blame himself. 

His limbs felt suddenly way too heavy for him to even raise a single hand. His head rested against the tree as his eyes went completely dark. 

He closed them, feeling exhausted. He had always wondered what his victims saw before their eyes while dying. People often say you usually see your whole life passing through or other cheesy shit. 

Derek could just see a deep blackness, but he guessed it was the price to pay for a life spent sending other people to hell.

  
He slipped into unconsciousness to the sound of his last heartbeats. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun! Dun! Dunnn!!! 
> 
> What happens now?😉😉


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles woke up in the middle of the night to someone pounding on the door. The hits were so hard he felt like the whole house was trembling. 

It was only in his imagination of course, a reflection of his own fears.

He jumped out of the futon and pressed his back against the wall, the furthest one, away from the door. 

_Who could possibly be there that late at night?_

_Did they find him?_

_Where was Derek?_

  
Stiles swallowed hard, running to the window and looking down to see if Derek's bike was there.

Derek had disappeared that morning and hadn't come back since. 

Stiles was worried, it was the first time Derek had left the home without telling him where he was going. 

Well, he never said anything when he went out for grocery shopping or such, but he would always be back in an hour or so. 

  
That morning he was dressed up like he was going to war and the fact that he still wasn't back couldn't possibly mean anything good.

  
Stiles's eyes went wide. Derek's bike was there, in the streets. He smiled brightly and ran to the door, not bothering to ask himself why would Derek knock on his own door. 

He opened it with a wide smile and looked up to meet the hitman's eyes. 

  
He was greeted by a pair of dark brown eyes and an unknown face. His first instinct was to slam the door in the stranger's face, but he noticed another figure beside him. 

The man was holding another guy by his waist, one arm of the latter was around his shoulders as he supported him. 

He didn't look conscious, his head was down and his black hair covered his face. He had some kind of tape or bandage around his lower abdomen but it was almost completely soaked in a red liquid. 

Stiles was paralyzed. His heart already knew what his mind yet had to realize. 

The smell of blood was so strong he felt nauseated, but along with that there was a familiar scent coming from the man and he would recognize it among a thousand others. 

That was Derek. 

The realization hit him like a hammer and his whole body started shaking uncontrollably.

  
“Fucking finally!” Growled the stranger, pushing him aside to drag Derek inside the room and to his bed.

Stiles closed the door in a state of trance, his eyes were wide in shock, couldn't stop looking at the floor where a trail of blood followed the two men. 

His ears registered the sounds coming from the bedroom but his brain couldn't interpret them, it just stopped working. 

  
_So much blood so much blood so much blood_

  
He pressed both his hands on his temples, trying to chase out the horrible thoughts from his head.

  
_So much blood so much blood so much blood_

  
_Too much blood_

  
_He's dying_

  
_Derek is **dying**_

  
“I don't fucking care, you need to come here!” The stranger was shouting from the other room.

“NOW! It's about Derek, he- YES, Derek, I can't explain everything over this fucking phone! Fucking come here now!” 

  
Stiles jerked out from his trance and realized he was kneeling on the blood-stained floor, both hands in his hair. His legs had clearly given up on him. 

He slowly got up though his whole body was shaking and he swallowed back a wave of panic. 

  
_Not now. Not now_. 

  
The stranger was still yelling, probably on the phone, this time it was their address. 

“If you're not here in five minutes Scott, I swear we're both going to regret it.” 

Stiles entered Derek's room and his eyes were immediately drawn to the motionless figure on the bed. 

Derek was laying there, his eyes closed and his face as white as the sheets.   
His clothes were soaked in blood as well as his hands. 

No sly smirks. No dark eyes piercing right through him. No deep voice trying to soothe his pain.

  
Stiles sat on the side of the bed and took Derek's hand in his. It felt like touching ice.

It was his first time holding Derek's hand willingly and it had to be in a situation like this. His own hands were stained with blood but he didn't care. 

What frightened him wasn't the sight of all that blood but the awareness that it was the blood of the man he...

  
“Don't you fucking die on me, you asshole!” The stranger was pacing up and down the room and he seemed to be unaware of Stiles' presence or he simply didn't care. 

“What happened?” Stiles' voice croaked, weak and shaken, his eyes not leaving Derek's face. 

He hadn't realize yet. Better, he didn't want to realize that it could be the last time he was seeing him.

The other man barely looked at him. He went to the window and looked out, like he was expecting somebody. Stiles kept looking at Derek. 

“We need to change the bandage, it's soaked,” Stiles went on, his voice breaking more than once in between the words. He needed to focus his mind on anything that wasn't Derek's possible death.

The stranger kept pacing the room. 

“I only had this one, I didn't expect him to be in this- fuck, fuck, fuck!” He slammed both hands on the wall with ferocity. 

“What the fuck was he _thinking_ , huh?” 

He turned around and looked at Derek's lifeless body. 

“Did you think you could take down the whole Nogitsune just like that? Are you fucking crazy? Why did you do that, Derek? Fucking wake up and answer me!”

  
Stiles didn't know this man but Derek was obviously important to him and he was clearly freaking out in the most irrational way.

  
“You're not helping at all, so stop it,” 

Stiles stood up and started fumbling around, looking for clean bandages.

“We need to stop the blood, it's the priority. ” He kept rubbing his eyes while going around the room, looking for everything and nothing.

He couldn't focus on a single thing and his heart was beating so fast he could barely hear anything except that erratic beat. 

He knew there was no way they could stop the blood, a bandage wasn't going to help and he was scared of worsening the situation if he touched the wounds. 

  
He was helpless and desperate, and hoped with all his being that it was just another nightmare. 

The stranger's eyes were on him all the time and he could feel them. He then sighed, still looking at Derek's pale face. 

“I tried, the wounds are too deep, there's nothing we can do-” 

  
“WE HAVE TO TRY!”   
Stiles screamed, turning around to face the stranger for the first time. Tears were flowing down his cheeks, his eyes red and swollen. 

He knew the man was right, there was nothing they could do, but admitting it was out of question. 

“HE'S DYING!” The man replied, desperation was as strong in his voice as it was in Stiles' one. 

He then collapsed on the floor, back against the wall and his head between his hands. 

  
“He was barely conscious when I found him, he lost too much blood and there is nothing we can do. Believe me when I say that. If there was something we could do, I would be already doing it.” 

Stiles clenched his fists, his lips becoming a tight line and his face wet with tears. 

He went back to the bed and sat beside Derek's arm. He leaned down and took his pale face in his hands, pressing his forehead against the hitman's one. 

“Don't you die on me,” he whispered against his lips. 

“Don't you die on me Derek, please,” some tears fell on Derek's cheeks and lips. 

Stiles leaned back a little, caressing Derek's face with his thumb. He brushed some of the black hair away from his forehead and pressed his lips against the hitman's frozen ones. 

Derek used to taste like coffee and cigarettes, but now the only thing Stiles could taste on his mouth was the bitter flavor of blood. 

He sobbed on his cold lips, gripping at the soaked shirt. He didn't want to remember Derek like that. 

In a small corner of his mind he was still hoping none of it was really happening. He was hoping he would wake up and all of this would turn out to be a dream.

  
Derek was invincible in his eyes, he couldn't be laying in that bed. 

He just couldn't.

  
A loud knock on the door startled both men. 

Stiles wiped away his tears on his sleeves and looked at the other man. 

The latter got up, hiding his emotions about what he had just witnessed, and went to open the door.

  
A tall broad man dressed in a long coat as dark as the expression on his face made his way into the room followed by another much younger guy with shaggy hair and big eyes.

The younger guy pushed the stranger away from the way. 

“Where is he?” 

The older man asked with a deep serious voice, a sense of urgency was clear in his tone . 

  
Stiles peeked out from Derek's bedroom just as the man was making his entrance, almost stepping on him. 

He looked at Derek, stopping in the middle of the room for a moment. 

In the meantime the other two stranger reached Stiles and stayed behind him, observing the situation. 

The newcomer put down the heavy bag he had on his shoulders and took off his coat with quick movements. 

He wore a pair of mimetic trousers and a gray t-shirt along with a pair of boots. 

The man opened the bag to take out surgical tools and a pair of rubber gloves.

“Get out,” he ordered without looking at them. 

  
As soon as the words left his mouth the other man dragged Stiles out of the room and closed the door. 

“Wait- who are they? What is he doing in there?” 

Stiles was in a state of utter confusion. He had three strangers in his home hovering around Derek in those conditions and no way Stiles would be able to save themselves if the men were to attack . 

He didn't know who he could trust.

“His name is Deaton. He's a doctor,” the other man explained. “He's seen men in this kind of situations thousandth of times, so if there's someone who can save Derek, that's him.” 

"And I'm Scott," the younger newcomer said. 

Stiles just stared. 

" I picked up the phone when this guy called the clinic, so I kind of tagged along with Deaton." The man continued, " I know Derek - he's a strong man with even stronger will, so don't worry about anything. He will be a-okey in no time." 

He offered a slight smile and for a moment Stiles felt his worries lessen just a fraction. 

Stiles swayed a little on his feet as the fatigue caught up to him.

The other man and Scott noticed it and moved to hold him.  
They made Stiles sit at the kitchen table, seeing how unstable he was. 

“You need to eat something,” the man stated while fumbling on the kitchen counter, looking completely different from the person that was freaking out in Derek's room a moment ago. 

  
It was evident he trusted that Doctor a lot, it was like all his worries had disappeared as soon as the man had stepped into the house.

  
“If he's a doctor why aren't we bringing Derek to an hospital? What can he do here?!” Stiles cried, his eyes on Derek's door all the time.

He had been bleeding for so long... What if it was too late? Why did that guy bring Derek home instead of going straight to the hospital? 

Scott and the other man sat down in front of Stiles, pushing a cup full of hot coffee in front of him.

He looked at Stiles closely and the latter instinctively tried to hide his face with his sleeve. He had swollen eyes and wet cheeks, dry lips full of cuts because of all the times he had been biting them out of nervousness. 

His hair was messy since he had just woken up and he just wore a loose white sweater and a pair of gray sweatpants. 

  
“I guess you know what Derek does for a living,” the man said, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface nervously and looking around the place a bit. 

“He can't go to an hospital. They would ask for his personal data and as soon as they would find out his identity he would end up jailed from here to eternity.”

Stiles nodded slowly, looking at the cup in his hands. 

Of course, what a stupid question that was. 

Derek was clearly far from being the average citizen.

  
“I am Liam by the way,” the stranger added, even if Stiles hadn't asked. It was just weird to be there without even knowing each others' names. 

“Well, everyone calls me Liam and you could too. Your name?”

Stiles didn't raise his gaze from the coffee cup. He was holding it way too tightly, his fingers becoming white around it.

“Stiles,” he answered in a whisper. 

  
Liam nodded, as to acknowledge the he heard Stiles'. 

He had a handsome face but strong eyebrows, which gave his face a serious expression. 

“I hadn't seen Derek in a while,” Scott said after a minute. 

Stiles realized just then they were trying to make some kind of conversation in an attempt to distract him. 

He felt grateful but he couldn't completely appreciate the gesture, he was way too worried.

“He doesn't like to have anyone around,” Liam laughed. 

A brief laugh, not really amused. Stiles looked at his slight smile and wondered what was behind it. 

“Well, we can't blame him, really, he always has something going on and he likes to be alone,” Liam started.

He looked at Stiles after the last words had left his mouth,

“...well, he used to.” 

  
Stiles felt uncomfortable and it was the last thing he needed in a moment like this. 

Liam's gaze was burning on his skin, he probably expected some kind of explanation for the scene he had witnessed, but Stiles' only thought was Derek and how he was dying in the next room. 

All of a sudden it really was too much. 

  
“E-excuse me,” he whispered, stumbling on his feet while standing up. He ran to the bathroom and locked himself in. 

A moment later he was throwing up his heart into the sink, images of bleeding wounds dominating his whole unconscious.

All that blood made him feel sick, but the thought of Derek in that state was even worse for his soul. 

  
He sank to the floor and tried to catch his breath. He frenetically looked for his medicines in the cupboard under the sink and panicked even more noticing there was just a handful left. 

He swallowed two without water and rested his head against the wall, trying to focus on his breath. 

  
He felt angry at himself. 

He was tired of feeling so weak and tossed around every time by this kind of situations. 

He was tired of his life and of his endless bad luck. Just as things started to get a bit better there was always the other side of the coin to sink all his hopes. 

Derek laid in the other room - barely alive, all because of him, and he was there - locked in the bathroom, panicking because of some blood stains. 

Stiles was so tired of being himself. 

He wanted to become stronger.

  
He put back the almost empty bottle of pills and slowly got back on his feet. He went to the sink, looked at his pale face in the mirror. He had some blood stains on his clothes and hands that he hadn't noticed before.

He sobbed as the image of Derek's lifeless body came back to haunt his mind in full force. He felt desperate and powerless. 

slamming his hands on the hard marble and tried to wipe away the tears that were flowing down his cheeks once again. Crying wasn't going to help Derek in any way, he thought. 

  
He washed his face with cold water, trying to wash away his fears as well. 

He came back to the main room just as the man named Deaton was leaving Derek's room, closing the door behind him. 

  
Stiles immediately felt his legs shaking. He had been in there for barely an hour, it couldn't possibly mean anything good. 

“Well?” Liam asked. 

They were still sitting at the table, a worried frown on both of their faces. 

  
Deaton washed his blood-stained hands in the kitchen sink, sighing deeply at the man's question. His face was dark.

“No,” Stiles said before he could stop himself. 

“Please...” his voice was trembling. 

  
Deaton looked at him with a severe expression. 

Stiles noticed he must have been sweating a lot in there. His shirt looked soaked and his hair were slightly wet as well. 

“Keep calm boy,” he just said. “He's alive.”

Liam sighed in relief and Scott cracked a smile. 

“I knew it, you're always the best!” Liam exclaimed.

Stiles sank on his knees and hid his face in his hands as a huge wave of relief washed through him. 

He was alive. 

Derek was alive.

  
“Thank you,” he murmured against his wet fingers. 

“Thank you so much for saving him” he sobbed hard, face turning hot and red, his whole body hurting for crying too much and too hard. 

Deaton looked away with an annoyed expression on his face. 

He wasn't used to that kind of scenes and he didn't understand it either. He worked with killers. Emotions were the last thing he expected from anyone.

Derek wasn't the kind of man to have people worrying about him to the point of crying. 

Derek wasn't the kind of man to have people around at all, actually.

  
“Someone needs to take care of him for the next few weeks,” he added. “I left some medicines and instructions in the other room. He needs to take them, and someone needs to change the bandages on his wounds at least once a day.” 

Stiles immediately stood up and nodded, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his sweater. His face was red and swollen. 

“I-I will” 

Deaton gave him the once-over. Stiles could clearly read on his face everything the man thought about him.

There certainly wasn't anything nice. He probably thought he was weak, a burden, but most of all the reason why Derek was laying wounded and unconscious in the other room in the first place.

  
That man was surely Derek's acquaintance and he probably hated Stiles. Stiles couldn't blame him, he was starting to hate himself too.

  
“He needs to rest for a few days. It would be better if he doesn't move from the bed if not strictly necessary. Can only eat liquids for now,” he ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “That's all. Follow my instructions and he'll be fine.” 

“Can... Can I see him?” 

Deaton looked at that pale boy fidgeting with the borders of his sweater in the middle of the room. 

He looked like he was about to collapse any moment but he had this determined look on his face. 

He wondered if there was Derek behind that look.

He nodded and watched as the boy literally ran into the next room. 

He shook his head and only then he noticed Liam looking at him from the table. He had a little smile on his lips that Deaton found annoying.

“Where's Jackson?” Scott just asked as he helped gathering Deaton's stuff in the meantime. 

As the boy wasn't there anymore he could address all the pressing matter more freely.

Liam looked puzzled. He furrowed his strong eyebrows, “Why do you ask?” 

Scott smirked. “You're trying to tell me Derek called you while he was dying?” 

“Of course he did. I'm here, right?” Liam smirked back with insolence. 

The man looked slightly suspicious. "Whatever you say,” 

Deaton finished putting his coat back on in the mean time and disappeared back in Derek's room.

Stiles was sitting at Derek's side, slowly removing locks of hair from his forehead and caressing his face in the most gentle way possible. 

  
The hitman was still pale but at least he didn't look like a dead man. And Stiles could now clearly see his chest moving up and down while he breathed slowly in his sleep. 

His shirt and jacket had been removed, so now he laid bare chest on the bed, a new clean bandage around his abdomen. 

He wasn't soaked in blood anymore and all the stains had been washed away. It looked like the worst had passed, for now.

  
“You took care of me all this time,” Stiles murmured, one of his hands navigating down from Derek's face to his chest, right on his heart. 

It was beating against his palm. It was a slow, steady beat, but it could be felt nonetheless. 

It meant Derek was alive.

  
“I'll be taking care of you now,”

he smiled softly, eyes lingering on the thick eyebrows and long eyelashes, the curvy nose and the slightly bruised lips.

Derek looked peaceful in his sleep, though that serious expression of his seemed to never leave his features, not even in his sleep.

Suddenly someone cleared his throat behind his back. 

“One last thing,” the doctor said, hands inside his coat pockets. 

Stiles looked frightened and confused by the sudden presence on the door frame. The man looked like he was about to leave. 

“I've never been here, you didn't see me,” he said. “You don't know who I am and you never met me, is this clear?” 

  
Stiles realized just there and then that man wasn't an actual doctor. Or at least not one of those one can find in official registers. 

But he had saved Derek, so Stiles just nodded.

Deaton gave him the once-over one last time. He still had that annoyed expression that told Stiles he didn't like him one bit. 

“Liam has my number, if anything happens,” he concluded, turning his back on the boy.

Stiles saw him walking out of the door, he heard Liam saying his goodbyes and receiving no answer from the man who slammed the door a couple of moments after. 

He heard Scott saying he would come by later to check on them. Then he too, left.

Stiles went back to giving his utmost attention to Derek. He leaned down and kissed his cheek with nothing but pure affection, and maybe more than that. 

  
“Thank you for not leaving me alone”

_...._...._

Derek could feel an annoying light hitting right on his eyelids and he couldn't help but groan and bat his eyes against it. 

After some moments he managed to open his eyes enough to see what was in front of him. 

He looked at the whitish ceiling and recognized it as the one in his bedroom. 

It was nothing unusual, so why was he _feeling so confused?_

  
He tried to raise his upper body from the mattress but as soon as his abdomen started flexing he felt an unbearable pain that forced him to fall back immediately. 

Worst idea ever. 

He had also caused himself the most annoying headache he had in a while. 

He found himself looking at the ceiling again, but this time memories started flowing through his mind. 

  
The Organization. The plan. The security system. 

  
Alarms. Shootings. The run. 

  
Pain. Blood. Pain. 

  
Run. 

  
Blood blood blood... 

  
Blackout.

  
_I should be dead_ , was his first rational thought. 

But he wasn't. 

He clearly felt his body from the tip of his nose to all the way down to his feet and he felt that annoying pain in his lower abdomen. 

_I've been shot_ , he remembered.

He looked down and raised a hand to touch the white bandage. His arm felt heavier than usual, but then again his whole body felt slightly numb.

He brushed the fingers against the bandage almost mindlessly, trying to recollect all the memories. 

_The code,_ he thought, looking around to find his phone on the bedside table. It was still stained with his blood. 

Derek reached out to take it and unlocked the screen. 

His last message said ' _Deep Red'_. 

He didn't even remember sending it, he was barely conscious, but it had worked. He was alive. 

“Ugh,” he ignored the piercing pain of his lower abdomen and slowly sat up on his bed, placing his legs out of the bed. 

  
His feet touched something soft and he looked down, noticing a futon spread across the floor of his bedroom.

On it, the slim figure of a sleeping boy. Stiles. 

He was hugging the pillow and his shiny brown hair was a mess all around his head.

He looked peaceful but had dark bags under his eyes. One of his legs was out of the blanket, his sweatpants had slipped down enough to reveal the border of his black boxers. 

  
Derek wondered what the boy was doing there, why he had to sleep next to his bed. Were his conditions so critical? 

He touched his bandage again and hissed at the pain, just for a brief moment. 

Monsters knew how to endure the pain. 

  
But that low hiss was enough to wake Stiles up. 

The boy literally jumped out of the futon crying Derek's name out loud. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye, rubbing his face against the light coming from the cracks in the shutters. 

He looked agitated for a few moments, then he slowly calmed down. Then he finally opened his eyes wide and spotted Derek sitting on the bed. 

The hitman noticed his eyes filling up with tears while his mouth fell slightly open in surprise. 

  
“Y-You're awake...!” Stiles sobbed, his legs threatening to give up on him any moment.

He made some steps towards Derek and touched his face with his delicate fingers, making the man feel like he was made of glass. 

“What--,”

Derek was confused by Stiles' actions. The boy looked incredibly relieved and was shamelessly touching his face like he wanted to make sure Derek was real.

  
“You've been unconscious for two whole days,” Stiles explained, cupping one of his cheeks with his cold hand. 

“I thought you were never going to wake up.”

_I thought I was never going to see your eyes looking in mine again._

  
Derek tried to comprehend what Stiles had just said.

He didn't imagine he had been unconscious for so long, but then again he thought he was never going to come back alive so that was already good news.

  
“Your friend Deaton has been here,” Stiles just whispered their name, like it was some kind of secret. “He fixed you, he-he told me what to do to make you recover... I-I tried my best but you...”  
He paused,

"Th-then, Scott came regularly to check on you and ch-change the bandages. Your friends really care about you....."  
he bit his lower lip, 

he was smiling behind those glossy eyes.

“I'm happy you woke up.” 

  
Derek looked at the empty futon on the floor. 

Stiles had slept beside him all this time because he was afraid of losing him so suddenly and not being able to do something to save him or just to tell him one last goodbye.

He turned around to meet Stiles' eyes. 

They were red and swollen, the dark circles under them looked even worse now that he could see them up close; he had dry lips, it was clear he had cried a lot in the past days because his whole face was blotchy and a bit swollen. 

Still, to him, Stiles looked extremely pretty in the first daylight. 

  
“You need to lay down, Scott said you can't-”

“Later,” 

Derek cut him off, taking Stiles' chin within his rough fingers. 

“You talk about Scott too much,” he whispered on his lips. 

Stiles' heart was beating so fast he felt like he was the one about to die this time. 

He closed his eyes and abandoned himself to the sensations.

  
Then someone cleared his throat from the door. Loudly.

“Sorry to disturb, I wanted to join the celebrations of Derek's awakening but I guess my timing is awful,” 

Liam was smiling from ear to ear Standing outside the door frame, his arms crossed and one shoulder leaning against the jamb.

Stiles cleared his throat as well, slightly blushing and immediately getting up. 

“You really should lay down now,” he murmured to Derek. 

The hitman wasn't looking at him. He was looking at the man standing near his door. 

  
“What are you doing here?” He asked, looking not the least amused by his presence. 

Liam shrugged, “What do you think? I saved your ass three days ago and I waited for you to wake up like a good brother.” 

  
“ _Brother_?!” 

Stiles opened his eyes in shock. He didn't know Derek had family, it was pretty clear to him that he was alone in the world just like him. 

“He's not,” Derek cut it short, still not looking at anyone but Liam. 

“Why are you here?, where is Jackson?”

Liam waved a hand carelessly.

“Abroad,” he sounded bored. “You know, work and stuff.” 

Derek stayed silent for a while, making the man grow more and more frustrated.

  
“What's your problem?” Liam shouted. “You know how codes work, right? Everyone receives the message, the first one who can come save your ass, they do. It was me this time, why do you have to act so disappointed?!!”

“I'm not,” Derek sighed, laying back down on the bed. 

He suddenly felt like wanting to rest a bit more. Liam was too noisy.

Stiles was looking back and forth from Derek to Liam trying to understand the relationship between the two. 

They looked close but Derek wasn't friendly with him like he was with Jackson. He wondered why.

Liam sighed, tired. “I know I don't have as much experience as you and Jackson, but this doesn't mean I'm useless, okay? Stop treating me like a burdening child.”

  
“I don't want to discuss this matter any longer,” Derek put an arm on his forehead and closed his eyes.

“Are you staying in the city?” 

“For a while, yes,” 

Liam shifted his weight from one foot to another, arms still crossed and eyes on the floor. He really looked like a grounded child. 

“Job?” 

“Mh-mh” 

“How many men?” 

“Only one”

“Did you find a place to stay?” 

“Hotel.” 

“Mmh,” Derek turned his face and pressed his cheek against the pillow, saying no more. 

Maybe the big amount of medicines Scott had been injecting him in the previous days was still having effect on him, or maybe he just wanted to be left alone. 

Stiles checked his forehead for fever, then took a close look at the bandage but didn't see any blood loss. So he got up. 

“He needs to rest,” he said, motioning for Liam to follow him out of the room. 

Stiles made some tea while Liam sat at the table where he had left his weapon. 

He looked at it and sighed, while Stiles pushed a cup of cold coffee in front of him.

Stiles poured the tea in another one for himself.

He fixed his sweatpants and sat down in front of the man, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down till they covered half of his hands. 

He felt cold suddenly, so he took a long sip of his hot tea right away trying to warm himself up.

  
“I don't know why he dislikes me so much,” Liam started after a while, when the silence was getting too heavy. 

He sounded like he was trying to get rid of a burden he kept inside for too long. 

"He doesn't,” Stiles shook his head. “He asked for your help, right? This means he trusts you.” 

“He probably sent that message to at least ten people,” Liam replied, dull. “This is how codes are supposed to work.” 

  
“What are these codes?” Stiles asked, curious. They have been talking about those codes for a while and he didn't quite get the system.

Liam brushed his fingers over the barrel of his self-loading, his eyes looked distant but he answered the question anyway.

“Hitmen usually work alone. We don't work in groups and we usually are more suspicious of other killers than we are of our targets.. ..  
Still, it goes without saying there are actually some so-called groups. 

For example, Derek would work with Jackson but wouldn't work with a random hitman. You can call them friends if you want, this is what I mean,” he sighed. 

“Well when it happens to have some people you can – almost – rely on, we create some codes for emergencies. 

'I'm fucked' or 'I've been shot' or 'There are more assholes than we thought in this motherfucking building', stuff like that. We tell that to each other through codes, and we send the message to all our 'safe' contacts, so that if we're in deep shit we can at least hope someone will come and save our asses.” 

Stiles analysed the information. 

“So Derek sent a message to all his friends to say he was in danger?” 

Liam wrinkled his nose at the word 'friends' but didn't comment.

“More than that. He sent a code that meant he was dying.” 

Stiles swallowed an invisible knot.

“Oh.” he didn't know what to say. _So Derek also thought he was going to die?_

“So of course I rushed to save his ungrateful ass and this is how he repays me, treating me like I'm still a child,” the man sighed in frustration.

  
Stiles zoned out for a while, barely hearing Liam's last words as he started losing himself in his thoughts. 

Derek was indeed dying and if it wasn't for the man in front of him, he would have died. He would have never came back to his home. Stiles would have never see him again. 

All of this because Derek promised to help him. 

Stiles had paid him for killing Kevin indeed, but Derek had already saved his life and he had been keeping him safe when he could have just give up and run away to live his life without taking Stiles' burden upon himself. 

Derek was already done with his job. Actually, he had done more than what was expected from him. 

  
And now he was in the other room, wounded, had almost died to grant Stiles' wish. 

It was all his fault for pushing the thing so far. He needed to do something about it, he couldn't just let Derek die for him. 

He would never be safe as long as Kevin was alive but he preferred living in a world with Kevin rather than living in a world without Derek. 

  
“--I don't even know why it bothers me, it has always been like that” 

Stiles came back to Earth and realized Liam had been talking for the whole time even though Stiles didn't hear a thing. 

Nonetheless, he knew what the man was talking about and he cracked a smile. 

“You've been friends for long?” 

Liam shrugged, “Since we were children.” 

  
Stiles blinked twice. He really couldn't imagine Derek as a child. 

“Really? That's a long time...” he was more than surprised. 

“Well, I was a homeless orphan. He found me and his Sister was kind enough to let me stay... so we kind of... grew up together. Derek is like an older brother to me, even if he dislikes that word. 

He doesn't like anything that goes near being a family. Can't blame him. But he sees me as a burden most of the time,” he sighed. 

Stiles smiled. “I think he really cares about you instead.”

Liam laughed, “Sure, did you see his face when he found out I was the one rescuing him? He was so disappointed, I bet he thought 'I was in the hands of this good-for-nothing? It's a surprise I didn't die then' or something like that,” his smile was bitter and barely real. 

  
Stiles tapped his fingers on the cup border, slightly curling his lips in a thoughtful expression. 

“I don't think so. I think he was just worried because, well, as you said you have little experience and that place must have been really dangerous. 

By the way he asked about your whereabouts and plans for the next few days, I can tell he worries about you a lot, even if he shows it with rude manners. But that's just how he is,” he smiled, ending his speech with another sip. 

  
Liam would have lied if he said he wasn't impressed by how that boy seemed to know Derek so well. 

He was indeed very impressed.

“You love him?” 

Stiles jolted, looking at the man with wide eyes. 

“W-what?” 

Liam just smiled, taking his gun and standing up.

  
“Sorry, that was impudent of me. I think I can leave now, Derek looks better and I really can't stay any longer. Business,” he grinned shot Stiles with a finger-gun.

He was someone who could be defined as handsome , he was also charming and attractive, most of all when he smiled. He was nice to talk to, with a good sense of humour.

“O-Ok...?” Stiles was confused by the quick change of topics. He stood up as well, without a real reason. 

Liam didn't really have much stuff with him since the circumstances of his arrival weren't exactly those of a guest coming to visit. 

He wore his brown leather jacket and looked at Stiles who was standing beside the table for no reason, looking slightly upset. 

  
He was probably still thinking about his question and Liam didn't want to speak his mind honestly. He had seen enough to know Derek and Stiles were something, and Stiles looked like a nice guy. 

He didn't want to blow up his happy bubble by reminding him of how he should be staying as far away as possible from Derek. 

He had grown up with him, he knew what he was capable of. He hoped Stiles wasn't going to end up getting hurt.

  
“I'll keep in contact to know about Derek's conditions,” he said right before leaving. “See you.” 

Stiles waved his hand until he realized how stupid and childish the gesture was. 

He hid his hand behind his back and cleared his throat. 

“Ye-yeah, thank you for everything,” he spoke before the door closed. 

He thought he should have thanked Liam more properly for how he had saved Derek's life. 

Liam helped him tremendously for the last few days. He was a nice guy.

Maybe next time. He sighed, feeling somehow relieved now that he was finally alone. 

The last couple of days had been way too hard for both his mind and body, but of course Derek had it worse.   
He needed to check on him.

But before he could make a step he heard the sound of a phone ringing. 

He stopped, puzzled. The sound wasn't coming from Derek's room so it wasn't his phone. But Stiles didn't have a phone either.

  
Then it hit him: the emergency phone.

He ran to the bathroom where the sound was coming from. 

He didn't remember having left the phone there. He didn't own it.

  
He usually gave it back to Derek when he came back from a job but--*But this time Derek almost hasn't come back*, he thought while grabbing the phone and reading the unknown number on the screen. 

  
_Did he have to answer?_

_What if it was some spy? Or worse, Kevin himself?_

_Was there any chance of him finding this number?_

_Had he found their whereabouts already?_

Stiles swallowed hard, holding the vibrating phone in his hand. He was scared but he also needed to know. 

He tapped on the green icon and brought the phone to his ear.

  
“...” 

  
A manly voice came from the other side. A voice he knew very well. 

  
_“Stiles-?”_

  
Stiles covered his mouth with one hand, feeling overwhelmed all of a sudden. 

“Ja-Jackson?”

_“Are you okay? Where are you?”_ he sounded concerned. 

  
“I'm... I'm at home. With Derek. Why?” 

A sigh of relief could be heard from the other side. 

_“I thought you were in danger. I received a message from Derek a couple of days ago, it was serious. I thought something had happened to the both of you. I'm not in New York and I couldn't read the message at the time. I'm in a...”_

a brief laugh. _“... let's say a critical situation. I only read it now. How's Derek?”_

  
Stiles felt his heart pounding in his chest for no reason. 

“He's... he's fine. Kind of. He's recovering, he...” 

Stiles sighed trying to keep his voice from shaking. 

“He almost died a couple of days ago..."

"- But he's fine now,” he added quickly.

_“Shit, I knew something went wrong. That asshole, I told him it was pure madness..._

_Anyway, I'll be back soon and I'll be playing the annoying guest role again if you don't mind.”_

Stiles laughed.

“Not at all.” 

_“Ah, my heart is full now,”_ Jackson joked. 

_“Stay pretty till we meet again Stiles, but don't think about me too much.”_

  
Stiles rolled his eyes but couldn't stop smiling and thought he was lucky Jackson wasn't there to see it because the man would totally pick on him for that. 

“Sure.” 

Jackson laughed. Then there was a moment of silence from both ends.

_“Keep Derek safe until I get there, alright?”_ Jackson said in a much softer tone. 

Stiles's expression immediately became deadly serious. 

He nodded even though no one could see. 

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat?! Derek's safe! Yay!
> 
> So, I've decided to update every Tuesday and Saturday.. hopefully I'll keep up!💜


	12. Chapter 12

“Do you want me to help you?” 

  
Derek looked up from his cup of noodles with a skeptical expression. 

He was sitting in his bed with his back against two pillows. It was more than comfortable and he could clearly eat alone. 

Stiles looked away, blushing a little. 

By now he could tell when Derek was annoyed and he could understand why. 

He had been laying in that bed for more than a week now and he was growing more and more frustrated every day.

Stiles had somehow managed to prevent him from getting out of bed except for going to the bathroom, but he knew Derek was never going to respect Dr. Deaton's orders and stay in bed until the wounds were almost healed. 

Which reminded him of his next “duty”. 

Derek finished his noodles and drank the soup, his every action carefully observed by Stiles who was trying to find any wrinkle, any spasm, anything that could mean Derek was still feeling pain. 

Derek was aware of Stiles' eyes on him and he was also way too skilled in hiding his pain.

“Done?” Stiles asked, taking away the empty cup and wiping Derek's mouth with a napkin. 

Derek turned his face away. 

“Don't,” he hated being treated like a weakling and Stiles' nurse act was getting on his nerves most of the times.

Stiles just sighed. Derek had been reacting like that to his every attempt of helping him – in the beginning he would feel hurt by his rude manners but he was used to those by now. 

  
“Okay, it's time to change the bandages...” 

Derek kicked away the sheets and slowly removed his white tee, showing his sculptured chest and shoulders. 

The bandage covered his whole abdomen, from the stomach to his groin. Stiles' face was already red by then. He had been doing the same thing every day for the past week but he just couldn't get used to seeing Derek's half-naked body.

Derek's skin was flawless in both aspect and color. It looked like he had a slight tan the whole year but this only made him more attractive.

His arm was completely covered in black ink, as well as part of his back. Stiles couldn't tell what those tattoos were about. They looked mostly like symbols, or words in some unknown language. 

Stiles was by now also aware of that pair of claws behind the hitman's shoulders. They looked like wolf claws and somehow fitted Derek's body and soul perfectly.

  
He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself and cool down the heat that kept on rising up his cheeks. 

He started by slowly removing the bandage around Derek's waist. Derek followed Stiles' every movement and observed his every expression.

He looked so innocent in the way he blushed at the smallest things. 

The hitman helped him by slightly lowering his sweatpants so to uncover the whole bandage and make it easier for Stiles to remove it, but it was certainly harder for him to deal with Derek's body.

Stiles swallowed hard and tried to ignore the fact that Derek's pants were so low he could almost see the base of his cock. 

He closed his eyes and pushed back the dirty images that his mind was producing. 

He removed the whole bandage and dropped it on the floor. He looked at the bullet-hole in the middle of Derek's abdomen and remembered how he had thrown up at the sight of that deep wound the first day. 

Now it was slowly healing over, halfway between a wound and a scar. 

  
Stiles knew there were two more on Derek's back, more or less at the same height of that one. 

But what had surprised him the most was finding out Derek had many other scars, some almost invisible. They all looked like old cuts, burns or bullet-holes. 

Stiles remembered looking at those the first time and feeling terrified at the thought of how many times Derek's life must have been in danger during those years.

He also remembered Derek commenting on the fact that most of the scars were on his back and not on the front. 

_The motherfuckers were all fucking cowards,_ he had said, grinning.

  
The hitman passed him the ointment, shaking him from his thoughts. 

“You know it's going to burn a little,” Stiles said as always, squeezing some of the ointment on his fingertips. 

Derek answered with an eyebrow raised stare that translated to more or less _you know I'm not a pussy._

Stiles smiled and proceeded to apply the unguent on the first wound, happy of being able to focus on something that wasn't the bulge in Derek's pants. 

He could tell the hitman wasn't aroused, which made the size of that bulge even more interesting. 

He started making circles on Derek's skin – as the doctor had recommended in order to apply the unguent properly – and looked elsewhere, focusing on Derek's hand that was resting right beside his hip. 

In particular, he took in every line of the tattoos on Derek's fingers. He had a letter on every finger of his left hand except the thumb, and all together the letters formed the word 'kill'.

Pretty self-explanatory. 

Stiles applied part of the new bandage on the front as to make sure the medicine would be absorbed properly by the skin, then asked Derek to turn around. 

The hitman complied and slowly turned to lay on his belly, giving Stiles his back while the boy was focused on unrolling the bandage following the man's movements.

Derek's back was wide and toned, the big claws tattoo dominating on the whole of his large shoulders.

  
The hitman crossed his arms under his head and closed his eyes. That was the only part of Stiles' nurse act that he actually didn't dislike. 

He let the boy work his hands on his wounds, applying some more ointment on every bullet-hole.

“What did you feel?” Stiles murmured, almost absentmindedly. 

Derek saw some moments of that night flashing in front of his eyes. He remembered the dark forest and his heavy breathing in his own ears. His desperate run, that wet feeling on his fingers stained with blood.

  
“I don't remember much,” he spoke in a deep and slow voice. 

“In those moments pain is so overwhelming your mind doesn't really keep track of the events.”

Stiles could tell he had a lot of experience of that kind of moments and it made him even more worried. 

“So you didn't feel pain?” he asked, slowly wrapping the clean bandage around the hitman's back. 

Derek turned around to lay on his back again and slightly lifted his hips everytime Stiles needed to pass the bandage around his torso.

Stiles tried to ignore how sexual that little movement looked when Derek was the one doing it. 

After changing the bandages maybe he would need a cold shower and a couple of hours to calm down. 

  
“Over a certain threshold you don't feel pain anymore,” Derek explained, pulling his sweatpants back up. 

Stiles stayed silent, moving to pick up the old bandage from the floor while Derek slipped his white tee on again.

In a way, Derek was saying that he had experienced a pain so unbearable, his own brain had shut down in front of it and prevented him from feeling it.   
He didn't know if he should feel relieved or horrified about it. He didn't know what to say.

  
Stiles walked into the kitchen and threw the bandage in the trash can along with the empty noodles cups. 

The fridge was half-empty and he knew he needed to do some shopping. 

“Derek?” He called out, his head now inside the fridge. 

He knew the man wouldn't answer so he went on, “We need food. I'm going to get some, okay?” 

“No.” The answer came back immediately. 

Stiles was surprised. 

  
He walked back into Derek's room and found the hitman looking deadly serious on his bed. He made a move as to get up but Stiles immediately stopped him.

“Wait, don't! You can tell me from there. What's the problem?” 

Derek looked down at his lap, then out of the window. He looked troubled, even though he was expressionless as always. Stiles just knew he was uncomfortable.

“I can't let you–...” he paused and chose other words. “You can't go alone.” 

Stiles smiled softly. Derek was worried about him.

  
“It's just around the corner,” he replied.   
“And I'll bring the phone along, okay? It will take just ten minutes. You need to eat some meat and we're short on basically everything.” 

  
Derek looked frustrated. “I'll go,” he sat up and threw his legs out of the bed.

Stiles' expression turned from soft to cold in the blink of an eye as always when it came to Derek's health.

“You're not going anywhere,” he spoke with a steady voice, making Derek stop what he was doing right away. 

The hitman looked taken aback by Stiles' fierce stare.

“Scott says you need to rest and I won't let you go out in these conditions. I can survive a ten minutes walk, okay?” He sighed.   
“You need to rest. Please.” 

  
Derek closed his eyes.   
A whole week like that was already exhausting and maybe another one awaited him.   
His frustration was reaching the point of no return. 

He took a deep breath to keep his emotions under control but to no avail. His blood was boiling and his fingers were already clenching around the border of the mattress.

He suddenly jerked and knocked everything that was on his bedside table over with one violent slap. 

Items fell on the floor loudly, a glass of water shattered, spilling the liquid all over the white surface. 

  
Stiles almost jumped in shock and instinctively took a step back from the door. 

He looked at the dark expression on Derek's face and what he felt was – yes he had to admit it – nothing but pure fright. 

Derek was still sitting on the bed and his head fell down like he was knocked unconscious all of a sudden. 

But Stiles heard his heavy breathing and noticed how he was clenching his hands together, probably trying to calm himself. His whole body looked rigid, like the whole of his muscles was tense in the effort. 

Stiles swallowed hard but to his own surprise he didn't dare to make a single step ahead.

“Is... is something wrong?” 

He didn't understand Derek's violent reaction. 

Yes, sure he was frustrated, sure he didn't want Stiles to go out alone, but it didn't justify that burst of rage. 

A small voice in Stiles' mind told him it was not the first time he was witnessing that kind of reaction from Derek. 

Derek ran both hands on his face, looking extremely tired all of a sudden. 

When he spoke again there was something so dark in his voice, Stiles almost didn't recognize it as Derek's. 

“Go..” 

Stiles shivered. Derek still wasn't looking at him.

“W-what?” 

His mind was telling him to run but he wanted to understand what was happening.

“GO!!” 

Derek shouted, kicking away the bedside table. It went crashing against the wall and fell sideways on the floor with a loud thud. 

  
Stiles quickly took his coat and literally ran out of the house. He ran down the stairs and out in the cold air of New York late afternoon.

He stopped when he was out of the building to catch some fresh air and fix his coat before looking up to where he knew there was the window to Derek's room. 

He couldn't tell what he was doing from there but it seemed quiet. 

He started walking along the sidewalk, trying to comprehend what had just happened. 

He knew Derek was more than frustrated, he wasn't the kind of man to just stay in bed for days doing nothing. He needed to keep everything under control, he needed to do his job, he needed the adrenaline. 

  
Stiles was aware Derek wasn't the average man. He was a hitman, he certainly was far from being average or anything that most people would consider 'normal'. His reactions to various kinds of situations were probably different too. 

  
Stiles slipped both hands in his pockets and thought his presence had been more or less a meteor in Derek's methodical world. 

He had messed up the hitman's whole life without warning and he could totally understand if he sometimes had those burst of frustration. 

It didn't have anything to do with the feelings Derek may or not may be having for him, it was just a matter of habits and life styles. 

Stiles understood that. 

Maybe it was just better to give Derek some time for himself.

  
He smiled while walking down the road to the mini-market, satisfied with the excuses he had made up for himself. 

He was way more relaxed now. Indeed he was way more relaxed that he had felt in all those years he spent by Kevin's side. 

Derek wasn't an easy man to live with, but he wasn't a monster. 

Stiles could sleep peacefully again at night, the nightmares were decreasing and so his panic attacks. 

He felt safe, even though it was funny to think something like that right after what he had witnessed back at home.

  
“Good evening,” he entered the mini-market and started walking down the aisles.

He thought maybe Derek would feel better after a proper dinner. He didn't remember the last time they had had a meal worth that name and he was tired of instant noodles.

He took some meat, milk, eggs, ready-to-eat salads and some beers. Alcohol could help Derek relax a bit and lessen his pain as well. 

He was in front of the snack section, wondering what was worse for his health between a bag of chips and a bag of candies, when he felt vibrations in one of his pockets. 

He immediately looked for the phone and fished it out of the coat, wondering if maybe Derek had some special request for dinner.

  
“Hey,” Stiles answered in a cheery tone, smiling. 

He wanted Derek to know he wasn't angry or scared about what had happened.

  
“ _Uhh, what's with this sweet voice?”_

Stiles blinked, taken aback by the unknown voice from the other side. Or better, not unknown, it just wasn't the voice he expected to hear. 

“Oh...” he slowly realized. 

“Jackson!” 

“ _Hello, pretty!”_

  
“Stop calling me that” 

“ _Come on, you love it,”_ a laugh.  
 _“Were you expecting a call from someone else_?”

Stiles tucked some hair behind his ear and kept fumbling through the chips bags. 

“Uhm, not really,” he shrugged, though Jackson couldn't see him.

“I thought it was Derek calling to check on me or something.”

Jackson's voice immediately took a worried tone. 

“ _Where are you, Stiles?”_

“Just at the mini-market down the street!” He sighed.   
“You two are really annoying. I'm fine!” 

  
“ _Are you going home soon after?_ ” 

Stiles rolled his eyes and took both chips and candies. “Yes!. Why did you call by the way?” 

  
“ _Just to hear your voice of course”_

Stiles laughed. “Sure” 

“ _Okay, I wanted to know how's the situation in there. Like, how are you, how's Derek, if there are any news and such,”_

Stiles realized Jackson sounded tired. 

“Derek's recovering quickly and I'm fine. But... you mean you're not in here? I thought you were coming back,” he bit his lower lip and went to the check-out. 

The cashier, an old man whose height barely reached Stiles' chest, slowly took out all the items from the basket.

_“I am,”_ Jackson sighed. 

There was a weird atmosphere around him. It was silent one moment and chaotic the next one. 

_“It's taking me longer than I thought but I'll be back soon._ ” 

“Jackson are you alright?” Stiles asked, worried.

  
 _“Of course, I just had this cute boy in my hotel room and we had some fun so now I'm tired,”_ he laughed. 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. 

_“Jealous, Stiles-?”_

“I can tell you're lying,” Stiles replied, dull. 

“If you don't want to tell me what's going on it's okay, but please be careful.”

  
Jackson stayed silent for a few moments. There was this comfortable silence from both sides of the line, and Stiles could hear the man breathing slowly. 

“ _You worry about me_ ,” his voice finally came, with a soft tone to it this time. It wasn't a question, but Jackson sounded slightly surprised nonetheless. 

Stiles sighed, fumbling in his pockets to find some crumpled banknotes. He gave them to the old man.

“I do. After seeing what happened to Derek, I can't help but worrying all the time.”

_“I'm not as stupid as Derek,”_ was Jackson's immediate reply. 

He sounded amused. _“I will come back on my two feet so take care of yourself until we meet again.”_

Stiles took his shopping bag, bowed to the cashier and quickly left the shop.

“You keep saying it, but why don't you hurry up and come back instead?” 

He smiled and he knew Jackson could tell he was smiling from his tone of voice. 

Just like he could tell Jackson was smiling back when he spoke again. 

_“I didn't know you were missing me so much,_ ” he was more than amused. 

  
“I'm not,” Stiles replied too quickly.   
Then he sighed and smiled, defeated. “Maybe a little...”

_“Ah! Don't do this to my poor heart pretty boy.. Don't give me hope..”_

Stiles was laughing wholeheartedly by then. 

Walking along the sidewalk, he looked up at the dark sky and noticed some snowflakes coming down. It would start snowing soon and for the first time in a long while he felt like his life wasn't that hopeless after all. 

Maybe there was a glimpse of happiness waiting for him too. He didn't know if it was because he and Derek were getting closer, or because when he talked to Jackson,.. but he suddenly didn't feel so alone anymore.

or is it because just looking at those perfect snowflakes he felt like things would eventually turn out for the better, sooner or later. 

He decided to just enjoy the moment and hold on to that small bubble of happiness. 

  
“You're really sure you're not as stupid as Derek?”

  
Jackson laughed. 

_...._...._

There had been robbers in their home, Stiles thought when he got back home. 

There was no other way to explain the mess that was the room in front of him. 

  
The couch was reversed on the floor and the kitchen table had had the same destiny and was now laying upside down in a corner. The chairs had flown across the room and one of them had clearly crashed against the wall and was now missing a leg – that had apparently ended up on Stiles' futon. 

  
The boy stepped carefully into the room, leaving his coat on the reversed couch and looking around.

The kitchen cupboard was open and one of the shutters was hanging broken from it. Some plates were shattered on the floor along with some pots. 

It looked like a tornado had hit only that single house in the whole city. 

“De... Derek?” Stiles called out hesitantly, looking at the disaster around him. 

He had been away for maybe half an hour, no longer than that. 

He went picking up the table and slowly brought it back to his original position. He left the shopping bag on it and turned around. 

Derek was standing in the door frame of his room, leaning against one of the jambs, his arms crossed on his chest and his dark gaze on Stiles. 

He didn't look as upset as before, but Stiles honestly didn't know what to expect from him.

“Phone,” he said. 

Stiles blinked twice in confusion.

“What?” 

He then looked around and gestured with his arms. 

“What happened here?” 

Derek extended his arm and opened his hand. 

“The phone,” he repeated, looking deadly calm. 

All the contrary of how he was before Stiles left.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and fished it out of his pocket. 

“I wasn't going to keep it...”  
he didn't understand Derek's actions.

The hitman took it and looked at it. 

“It's on,” he stated, his voice flat. 

Then he looked at Stiles again. 

“What were you doing out there?”

Stiles glanced at the shopping bag before looking back at Derek. He didn't even dare to move a single muscle. The whole situation was upsetting him. 

“I went shopping, I told you...” 

“I called you,” Derek finally said, explaining why he was all weird. 

“You didn't answer. What were you doing? I was about to come after you.” 

Stiles' shoulders slumped down in relief, his tense muscles relaxed. 

Derek was just worried about him, even if that didn't explain the mess in there. 

  
“Jackson called,” he explained, still looking around the room. 

“I'm sorry if I didn't answer but nothing happened. I'm fine,” he smiled, trying to reassure the man. 

Derek didn't look relieved. 

“What did he say?” He asked, expressionless as ever.   
“Does he call you often?”

  
Stiles picked up some pots from the floor. 

“No, he just calls to know your conditions. He's a good friend,” 

he got up and put the pots on the counter. 

“Derek what happened in here?” He asked again.

Derek had his arms crossed again. He looked imposing standing in the door frame that was barely tall enough for his height. 

“He could have called on my phone,” he simply said, implying a lot of things with those few words. 

He looked around the room, his mouth twitching for a split moment. He looked like he was about to say something about the chaos but couldn't. 

“...”

Stiles waited for an answer that never came. He couldn't believe Derek was behind that mess. It looked like the act of a psycho. Derek was many things but Stiles would never believe he was a psycho. 

He wasn't some kind of crazy monster unable of controlling his emotions, right? 

  
_Kevin got up from the bed and went to the window, lighting up a cigarette. He exhaled the smoke in the cold air of the night and didn't glance back at the bed even once._

_The moonlight was slightly hitting his bare back, highlighting his shoulders and muscles. He wasn't a boy anymore but he wasn't so old either._

_He looked like a man in his mid-twenties, still toned and athletic. Charming._

_Stiles slowly sat up between the pillows and rested his back against the headboard, brushing his wrists, his mind in confusion._

_He felt the wetness between his legs, but most of all, that burning feeling. It wasn't pleasant._

_Kevin had done weird things to him that night._

_First of all the handcuffs. They had never used toys before, and Stiles now knew he didn't like them either._

_His wrists were slightly bruised, and he had asked Kevin to release his hands midway but the man had just ignored him._

_His face was scary while he covered Stiles' mouth with his hand to prevent him from complaining any longer._

_Stiles didn't know what to think._

_Kevin had always been the violent type in bed but there were limits._

_Now he was breaking those limits one by one._

  
_He didn't even want to make love that night, he had told his husband he was tired and just wanted to sleep._

_Kevin would usually understand, but that night he didn't pay the slightest attention to Stiles' words._

_Stiles looked at his bruised wrists and realized what they had done that night didn't feel like love at all._

_He felt violated._

_Violated by his own husband._

  
_But it had never happened before, so he wasn't really sure. Maybe he was just overthinking things._

_Kevin had always been a passionate man but never once he had gone against Stiles' will in bed._

_Yes, he was scary when he got angry, he would throw things and destroy things, but he was always so tired and frustrated because of his job._

_Stiles could understand him._

_Maybe that night he had felt frustrated as well and he had vent out his frustrations in bed._

_It wasn't the right thing to do, but it wasn't going to happen anymore._

_Stiles was sure of it._

_His husband wasn't a psycho or a monster. He was just a man, and had problems like everyone else and sometimes he didn't know how to deal with those._

_Just that._

_Stiles slipped under the blankets, satisfied with the excuses he had made up for himself._

_Five minutes later Kevin joined him and kissed his forehead goodnight. Stiles smiled with his eyes closed._

“...again.”

Stiles shook the painful memories out of his head; he had fell into one of his 'moments' again.

It happened often, his psychiatrist had told him it was a consequence of the abuses. 

His mind would travel back to those memories every now and then, most of all if Stiles felt somehow threatened in the present. 

_Did he feel threatened by Derek?_

  
“...Sorry, I didn't get it, what did you say?” He asked, meeting the man's eyes. 

Derek had one eyebrow raised, clearly wondering what was wrong with Stiles. He came closer and Stiles had to fight the unexpected urge to step back. 

He didn't know what to expect, Derek had been so weird that day. 

Derek slowly traced Stiles' jaw with his coarse fingers. Stiles shivered at the touch, then the hitman took his chin between his index and thumb. 

“Are you alright?”

Stiles wanted to cry at the badly-hidden concern in Derek's voice. 

He immediately felt guilty for the terrible thoughts he had had about Derek in the last ten minutes, just because he had burst out once out of frustration. 

He could understand the situation, he knew Derek couldn't just stand still and follow the doctor's prescription. 

He hadn't hurt Stiles, so what was the reason behind such harsh thoughts? 

Stiles sighed, not looking Derek in the eyes. It was embarrassing. 

“Nothing, I was just lost in my own thoughts... what did you say?”

Derek kept brushing his thumb against Stiles' soft skin. 

“I said we're going to buy new furniture to replace what I've...” he left the words hanging and looked away. 

He chose other words. “...We need to re-buy some things.” 

Stiles slowly nodded, looking at the troubled expression on the man's face and just wishing he could delete the last hour from both their memories. 

It felt like something had been slowly deteriorating between them and he hated the feeling. 

_He wanted to turn back time._

“Kiss me,” he exhaled, almost like a confession or a plea. Maybe both. 

Derek met his eyes again, taken aback by the sudden request. 

He thought Stiles was angry at him or worse, _scared._

Stiles lowered his gaze, embarrassed. 

“I-I need it,” he murmured, as if that was a rational explanation to his request. 

Derek stood still for a couple of moments in which Stiles had all the time to regret his shameless request. 

Maybe it wasn't the right time. 

Maybe Derek didn't want to kiss him right there and then.

Maybe he was still angry 

maybe he was tired 

maybe his wounds hurt 

maybe...

Derek cupped Stiles' cheeks with both his hands, the latter could feel the warmness and roughness of his palms against his cold skin. 

He slowly leaned in, giving Stiles the time to prepare himself and to close his eyes, not an easy thing to do since his heart was beating so fast it had basically sent his whole body in black out. 

  
Their lips slightly touched, in maybe the most innocent kiss they had shared up until that moment. 

Stiles grabbed at Derek's white tee and pressed their lips harder together. He wanted to feel it.

Derek seemed scared to break him if he only kissed him with a bit more passion but Stiles didn't want to be treated like a glass vase. 

The moonlight coming from the small window in the kitchen made them look like nothing more than two black figures in the middle of a messy dark room, with way too long shadows cast on the floor. 

Stiles' heart was trembling maybe harder than his body. Derek's breath was hot against his mouth and the man waited patiently until Stiles slowly parted his lips and let him in. 

He didn't assault his mouth like he would always do though: the kiss remained slow and intense, Derek's hands not leaving Stiles' cheeks and Stiles's grip on his tee only intensified with a bittersweet mix of passion and desperation. 

  
Their intertwined mouths were saying it all: _I'm sorry for what I did,_

_I'm sorry for making you feel like that,_

_I'm sorry for what I thought about you,_

_I'm sorry for letting you in this mess,_

_I'm sorry for not being able to protect you,_

_I'm sorry for being the best and worst mistake you could ever make._

  
Stiles felt incredibly relieved and scared at the same time. 

Relieved because Derek's kisses were like a ticket straight to the most sinful circle of hell but he had all the intentions of enjoying that ride,

scared because the way Derek was kissing him felt like a goodbye kiss even if he knew better that wasn't the case. 

He wondered if the hitman was somehow scared of losing him. 

  
His hands traveled up towards Derek's shoulders and he grabbed at the back of his tee while Derek pushed his tongue further into his mouth without speeding up the pace of that kiss. 

He was enjoying every moment of it, every single whimper from Stiles was a big, wild wave messing up his everything inside. 

He knew he didn't deserve it, not after the mess he had made, not after having scared Stiles like that – because he knew he had scared him and he was going to regret it forever.

He was slowly losing control of himself and letting Stiles see his darkest side, something that wasn't supposed to happen, ever.

He was scared Stiles would run away as soon as he would find out – away, where Derek couldn't protect him.

  
Stiles slowly stumbled back until his back hit the kitchen table, the impact making some fruits fall from the shopping bag and roll onto the floor. 

None of them seemed to notice or care. 

Stiles stopped there, his back slightly curved backward while Derek imposed on him without breaking the kiss not even for a moment. 

Stiles thought the room looked like a reflection of his own feelings now: messy, wrecked, confused. 

  
All of a sudden he didn't mind the chaos anymore: he and Derek were chaos as well.

Something that wasn't supposed to exist, something messy, wrecked and confused as his feelings. 

Something dangerous and potentially lethal. 

Something destructive. 

  
Somehow, Stiles thought, chaos was where they both belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating a day early cause I didn't have much homework this week.
> 
> Enjoy!!😉 tell me what you think💜


	13. Chapter 13

The door clicked and opened, casting a ray of light on the floor of the dark room. 

It looked like there had been a blackout just in that single suite, but Scott knew that wasn't the case.

“What are you doing?” He asked, annoyed. 

He stopped in the middle of the hotel room after closing the door behind him. There was a low chuckle from somewhere in the room and then the little bedside table lamp was turned on. 

Liam sat on the armchair beside the bed, wearing only his jeans. He was barefoot and had a towel badly wrapped around his right shoulder. 

It was half soaked in blood. 

“I've been shot,” Liam coughed, looking like an abandoned doll. He was sweating a lot and his breathing was heavy, but he was smiling as always.  
“My head feels dizzy and the light bothered me.”

  
Scott sat on the bed and took off his black jacket.  
He briefly glanced at the other man. 

“That's the worst bandage I've ever seen,” he commented, looking deadly calm like he didn't have a wounded man in front of him.

Liam laughed briefly. “I'm not as good as you, that's for sure.”

Scott's lips twitched a little while he turned towards the black bag he brought. 

"Don't you think Deaton would be far better choice in this than me?"

"Nah, I'm good.  
Frankly, that man really scares me.  
And also, you are the one that I need," Liam finished with a teasing smile.

Scott scoffed, “Two assholes in a week. It's a bit too much,” he mumbled, revealing the contents of his bag. 

Medicines, bandages, stitches, surgical instruments and more. It was basically a little operating room in the form of a bag. 

“Don't call Derek an asshole,” Liam immediately stated, serious.

“He just made a mistake... it happens to everyone, even in our field--” his voice was cut off by a painful moan. 

Scott side-eyed him for a moment before turning his attention to his bag again. He took out some stitches, an unguent and a clean bandage. 

“That new boy is fucking up with his brain,” Scott replied, getting up and going to the little private bathroom of the suite. 

He took some dry towels and came back, glancing at Liam. 

“He will get him killed.” 

Liam shook his head. “Stiles isn't anything like that, he cares about Derek.” 

“That's the problem,” Scott said, looking straight in Liam's eyes. 

“Derek cares about him as well. This will get him killed.” He was deadly serious. 

Liam slowly got up and sat beside Scott on the bed. He looked pained and barely conscious. He removed the towel and showed the bleeding hole in his shoulder. 

“It's infected,” Scott noticed. He met Liam's gaze.   
“You're more stupid than I thought.”

Liam smirked. “You know, I like to think one day we'll all stop doing this job and retire, and on that day I would like to see Derek with someone like Stiles by his side, and I hope to have someone like that too,” he breathed out an amused laugh.  
“What do you think Scott? You want to be a part of my epic love story?.” he finished with a eyebrow wiggle.

  
“Thanks for the offer but no,” the man wasn't even listening. He cleaned and disinfected the wound with very small and careful gestures. 

"Oh man,.. bummer. Here I got all my hopes up.."

Scott didn’t respond.

Liam was observing his face.

“You know, you only look smart when you're doing things like this,” he confessed. “The rest of the time you're a pain in the a-AH!” 

Scott stopped pressing his finger on the wound and met Liam's eyes. 

“That's what happens when you're annoying,” he stated, not without the glimpse of a smirk.   
“I can see why Derek doesn't want you around,” 

he proceeded to apply the stitches on the bullet-hole without any anesthetic. 

Liam hissed at the pain but he knew he had to endure it. It would make him stronger and less vulnerable in his job. 

“He just worries about me...” he murmured, remembering Stiles' words. 

“Who said it? The fairy boy?” Scott said in a monotonous tone. “Do you believe in bullshits now too?   
You're so naïve Liam. That one lives in his own fairy world where everyone is happy and nice, he doesn't know what real life is.”

  
"Wow, what's gotten into you? You weren't this aggressive that day... you were rather friendly with the boy.." Liam let out.

"Well, what did you expect from me? I'm not someone who causes trouble in an already tensed situation.   
Also I have some common sense which some of you clearly lack. Just wait and see, everything I said is accurate."

  
“Well, You don't know him, Scott,” Liam replied, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why do you dislike him so much?” 

Scott chose not to answer.

He applied some healing unguent and wrapped a clean bandage around Liam's shoulder. He then pushed him down on the bed. 

“You have a fever caused by the infection. It will cool down by tomorrow but you need to rest.” 

He got up, removed his jacket and bag from the bed and sat down on the armchair. 

Liam already had his eyes half-closed but he didn't want to fall asleep. Scott didn't look like he had any intention of leaving. 

“You're staying here?” He asked with a raspy voice. 

The pillow felt really comfortable behind his dizzy head, he could feel his mind slowly drifting away. He could barely focus on Scott’s figure, his black jeans and light brown tee.

Scott slowly massaged his eyelids with both his left thumb and index fingers. He looked tired.

“Did you tell Derek you failed?” 

“I didn't fail,” Liam smirked, pressing his cheek against the softness of the fresh pillow. 

“The target's dead. I succeeded. Just with some scratches.” 

Scott didn't look impressed. “Did you tell Derek about these 'scratches' then?”

“He doesn't need to know. He's wounded himself, he doesn't need more bother.” 

“More like you're afraid he won't ever let you do the cleaning ever again.” 

Liam laughed. “Cleaning... what an old-fashioned term for the job.” 

“Don't change topic.” 

“Derek is not my father,” Liam stated simply. “I'm aware he doesn't want me to do this, but this is the life I chose and no one can make me change my mind.”

“Derek has his ways–” 

“And I have mine.” Liam looked straight in Scott’s eyes, not feeling so sleepy anymore. 

“I asked you to come do your job, not to lecture me. I'm not a child anymore, Scott. I'm not even that younger than you or Derek, remember?” 

Scott showed both his palms to the hitman and cocked his head back, resting his nape on the armchair's border. 

“Fine.” He exhaled, like someone who was tired of fighting with a child. 

“And to answer your question, since you didn't tell anyone you're here and wounded, of course I'm forced to stay in this fucking hotel to check on you. Now sleep.” 

"Well, in that case,.. the bed's always open.. don't you think you'll be more comfortable in my arms rather than that ch-"

The death glare Scott sent his way was enough to shut him up. 

Liam sighed and turned his head to the other side so that he didn't have to face the other man who always managed to trample all over his heart. 

He turned off the night lamp and the room fell into darkness.

Nights were never completely silent in a big city like New York, but barely any sound could reach the hotel room the men were staying in. 

The silence was almost serene and certainly ideal to get some good sleep but neither of them seemed to feel sleepy anymore. 

Liam cleared his throat after some minutes of heavy and awkward silence. “Scott... do you think Stiles knows?” 

The man's reply came after a long silence.

“If he didn't get it up until now I'm afraid he will only get it when it's too late.”

_...._...._

Stiles looked at the crumbling modern building in front of him, his eyebrows so heavily furrowed that they almost looked like one single eyebrow.

Derek got off the bike behind him and removed his helmet from his messy hair, locking it in the trunk under his seat along with Stiles' one. 

He passed near the boy and walked straight through the entrance. 

Stiles kept staring at the building and at the cloudy, gray sky over it for a while longer.

He really didn't understand what they were doing there. 

They had left the flat early that morning to go shopping for some new furniture to replace what Derek had destroyed some days before.

Derek wasn't completely healed yet but the worst had passed and Stiles knew Derek wouldn't accept another 'no'. 

  
They had bought a couple of chairs, an armchair and – since they were there – Stiles had asked if it wouldn't be so bad to buy a TV since there was really nothing to do at home when Derek was away. 

Derek had complied with his usual expressionless face and had bought a TV and a single bed for Stiles to replace the futon since apparently Stiles was going to stay at Derek's way longer than he had thought at the beginning.

When Stiles was about to give their current address for the delivery Derek had stopped him and told him to wait outside while he dealt with the delivery of the furniture.

Stiles had waited five minutes outside of the shop wondering what he had done wrong for Derek to step into the conversation so suddenly, but then the hitman had come out of the shop with his usual confident pace and unreadable face, had put an arm around Stiles' shoulders like it was something he usually did (it wasn't at all) and Stiles had forgotten everything right there and then, along with his own dilemma.

  
The shopping was done at that. Stiles had got on the bike behind Derek and had shamelessly hugged the man around his waist, enjoying the usual smell of his black leather jacket.

  
He had thought they were going back home, most of all because he had stupidly just wore a purple sweater and a very light jacket over it, which wasn't the most suitable choice of clothing to face the cold winter, most of all while riding a bike.

But Derek seemed to have other plans, judging from the decaying building in front of him. 

  
Stiles didn't even know in which part of the city they were, but he could swear it was somewhere in the secluded area. 

When he managed to take off his eyes from the sky he noticed Derek looking at him from the door and gesturing for him to follow. 

Stiles ran after him and then endured climbing three steep flights of stairs before Derek stopped in front of a wooden door that looked as light as straw. 

Stiles could hear loud rock music coming from the inside. 

Derek knocked on the door twice. Nothing happened. 

Stiles thought the music was so loud whoever was inside couldn't hear a thing.

Derek had his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked relaxed but Stiles knew he was probably a bit annoyed. 

After a long minute, Derek knocked again.

“Mahealani!!” 

The music stopped almost immediately after Derek's call, but there was no sound of steps or any other sound, really.

“It's open!” came the answer. 

Derek sighed.

“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath. 

He turned the knob and the door opened by itself with a light creak. Whoever lived in there was clearly not afraid of burglars. 

Both men stepped into what probably was the messiest room on Earth. 

There was literally no space to put your foot and Stiles had to step on some clothes and empty cups of noodles to reach the center of the room, just behind the corner of the entrance corridor.

The furniture was unique in his genre, not because it was anything fancy but because all that was in the room was basically a couple of long desks arranged in a “L” disposition against two of the walls and a sofa-bed against another wall.

  
The desks were covered in a huge variety of things, most of them looked like rubbish but Stiles noticed one personal computer at the edge of one of the desks and two big speakers. 

  
Danny Mahealani , sat at the other desk in front of a laptop but he was looking at the TV screen right beside it and was brutally harassing the controller in his hands. 

He looked like a boy in his twenties from the way he was dressed: skinny jeans and a red hoodie over a white tee. He had nice black hair brushed back, showing his forehead and eyebrows . He was tall and muscular. And he hadn't looked at them not even for a moment since they had arrived.

“Die you fucker,” Danny whispered at the screen, sounds of shootings and screams coming from the game.

Stiles noticed another big machinery on the desk he didn't recognize. It looked slightly old but there wasn't any dust on it, meaning that it was still in use. 

On the desk near the young man there were also many papers and ID cards, it was quite uncommon. 

Derek cleared his throat to catch Danny's attention. The boy kept destroying the buttons with his thumbs.

“What do you need?” He asked, his voice flat and bored. 

Stiles thought it was rude of him but Derek didn't even flinch, like he was used to it. 

“I need to talk to all of your gang.” Derek said.

Stiles looked around but there was no one else in the room. 

Why did Derek say 'all'? 

  
“Alright,” Danny said, still not taking his eyes off the screen. 

“Erica! Kira! Derek's here!” he shouted all of a sudden. 

Stiles noticed just then a door half-hidden beside some boxes.

There were rustling sounds coming from the inside, sounds of rolling things and broken things, then the door opened wide. 

“Derek-!!” The enthusiastic voice belonged to a young woman whose age was hard to guess. 

She looked like a teenage girl, lean and beautiful, but something in her face gave an adult feeling.

Her voice sounded incredibly sweet when she had called Derek with that tone. 

Stiles noticed all these things after a while. 

Because the first thing he noticed about the woman named, he guessed, either Erica or Kira was that she was extremely underdressed.  
She was only wearing a thin white tee and panties. Nothing else.

She looked incredibly happy to see Derek, unlike her apathetic roommate, and not the least concerned about her lack of decent clothes.

  
She ran to them and before Stiles could realize what was happening, She had already wrapped her arms around the hitman in a passionate hug. Almost as passionate as the kiss she gave him a moment after. 

Stiles' confused expression turned into a shocked one at the sight of that half- naked, beautiful, gorgeous woman kissing his hitman. 

Derek literally had to lift the girl by her waist in order to put her down and away from his lips. 

But he didn't look annoyed or angry – he wasn't smiling but his expression had immediately softened the moment that girl had appeared. 

Stiles felt a pang of jealousy in his belly while his heart started aching. What was the meaning of that? What did he just witness?

“What's wrong?” she asked, pouting. “Kira is not the jealous type.” 

“Actually, I am,” another voice replied from inside the room, though she didn't come out.  
Danny was ignoring everything that's happening and still wasn't taking his eyes off the videogame.

The girl, Erica shrugged. 

“Whatever, it was just a friendship kiss anyway.” she smiled brightly. 

She really was gorgeous with those big brown eyes and that mischievous face.

“You and your friendship kisses,” Kira shouted again in a flat tone. She sounded like she was used to this kind of antics. 

Stiles wondered if Erica and that Kira girl are in a relationship. 

Maybe they are one of those open couples or if they were together since such a long time that they trusted each other completely. 

  
Either way he was never going to digest that kiss, and Derek must have noticed that too because he was glancing at Stiles' frozen face every now and then. 

Erica noticed the stares as well and seemed to realize there was someone else with Derek beside them. 

Stiles was looking at her with eyes like burning daggers. 

“Oh,” Erica smiled softly. “You must be with Derek! Oh! You are so pretty! My God, oooh, Don't worry about what happened before, it's just that I haven't seen Derek in a long time and I guess I was a bit overwhelmed,” she shrugged and stuck out her tongue like a child who had made a mischievous trick. 

Then she candidly added, “Isn't sex with Derek the best?” looking at Stiles straight in the eyes as to seek for approval. 

Stiles was taken aback by that statement. 

"I- I didn't.. um, we-...we haven't-" he spluttered unsure of what to say.

  
Derek sighed. “Erica, put some clothes on.” 

Erica ignored him and slowly caressed the hitman's chest under the unzipped leather jacket. 

"He's such a beast, right..?" She continued winking at Stiles. 

Stiles' face burned with embarrassment and anger. He didn't know what's her relationship was with Derek, but he wasn't going to listen to her comments any longer. 

He was about to open his mouth but Danny beat him to it.

"Kira! Get in there and handle your girlfriend!.." the man shouted, eyes still fixed on the computer screen.

Stiles watched as another woman with sleek black hair and cat like eyes entered the room.

She folded her hands and leaned on the door frame.

“Just for your information, I am still here,” Kira reminded acknowledging both Stiles and Derek with a nod.

  
Erica jumped behind Kira and hugged her neck, kissing her temple. 

“Sex with you is great as well, baby,” she whispered in her ear. 

“By the way I'm still recovering from yesterday,” she chuckled and stood up again, looking at Stiles. 

“I guess this friend here knows what I'm talking about since he's with Derek,” she winked at Stiles, who was fuming by then.

“Actually I don't know–”

  
“Can you put some clothes on?” Derek raised his voice and raised his eyes at the ceiling as well.

Kira and Erica always managed to get on his nerves. 

Kira was always way too indifferent about everything, and Erica was some kind of modern, nymphomaniac hippy with a cute face.

  
Erica sighed. 

“Fine!” She surrendered, disappearing in the other room – that at this point Stiles realized must have been the bedroom – and returning after a moment dressed in a pair of black trousers and a black t-shirt that was two size bigger. Must have been Danny's. 

“What do you need Derek?” Kira asked, in a sceptical tone. 

Stiles had his arms crossed and was really wondering what could Derek possibly need from these people who clearly didn't look that smart. 

Danny looked like a nerd – Kira looked too detached - and Erica... well, Erica honestly looked like a simpleton. 

But she clearly had a relationship with Derek in the past and that was enough to make all Stiles' securities crumble down.

“It's about The Nogitsune,” Derek said, fishing a piece of paper out of his pockets. 

Silence fell into the room. Erica widened her eyes and took the piece of paper, looking at it while stealing glances at Derek's face, as to make sure he was serious.

Danny stopped playing and left his virtual alter-ego to die, turning on his chair to face his guests for the first time.

“What did they do?”

Derek looked at Danny, serious as ever. 

“I'm killing Kevin Ito.”

Erica started laughing like Derek had said some funny joke. 

Stiles felt like backing away just by hearing that name.

Kira stayed silent. 

When she noticed no one was joining her laugh, Erica stopped as well. 

She looked at Derek, lost. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Is he one of your clients?” Kira butted in, nodding towards Stiles but keeping her eyes on Derek. “I always thought you would find a less troublesome way to kill yourself to be honest.”

  
Stiles looked at his feet, feeling his chest exploding. He actually did want to tell Derek to stop and give up on the plan. He didn't know Derek had come this far for that purpose. 

He still hasn't talked to Derek about his change of mind. He didn't want Derek to go against such a big threat for him.

Kira's words were just like a punch in his stomach.

When he raised his gaze again, Erica was looking at him. Those eyes were less soft than before, like she was judging him for what he was pushing Derek to do. 

Stiles looked away – he knew he deserved that stare but it was hard to sustain it. 

  
“I need some fake documents,” Derek went on, ignoring everyone. He looked at Kira, who just slowly nodded, “...and I will need to break into their system because they updated it completely,” he now looked at Danny, who sighed, turned around, and went sitting in front of the personal computer on the other desk.

Kira turned back to turn on another computer sitting on the table. 

Stiles looked at them. 

_An hacker and a forger?_

Could he really expect anything less from Derek's circle of friends? ,

The only surprising thing was that this time it was actually a real couple of swindlers. 

He looked at Kira's back, curved in front of the computer while she typed on the keyboard as fast as light. 

Derek managed to find a chair in that mess and went sitting near him. 

Stiles' heart clenched at the sight. He felt so out of place, and most of all guilty because Derek was on the haunt again, which meant he was about to get in danger again. 

And then that kiss. And all the things Erica had said. 

Stiles wasn't so naïve, he knew Derek had history and probably a lot of them as well, but he didn't expect to meet one of his old flames. 

_And then what kind of relationship did they have? Just sex? Or was it a real relationship?_

Stiles didn't know which answer would make him happier but he knew for sure both of them would be equally painful to hear. 

  
“De-Derek,” his voice broke in the middle of the name but still managed to catch Derek's attention.

Stiles had his arms crossed and was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking sad and lost. Derek knew he should have expected it.

  
“I will wait for you outside,” Stiles said. It was just too painful and sad to just stay there and watch Derek and Erica together.   
It made him angry as well.

Derek opened his mouth to say something but Stiles just turned on his heels and walked out of the apartment. 

Erica's eyes followed Stiles until he was out of their sight, then she looked at Derek with a concerned expression on her face.

“I'm sorry, I think I fucked up... I didn't know you were together.” 

“We're not,” Derek answered, way too quickly. 

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“Let's just stick to work,” He pushed the piece of paper towards her. 

  
Erica ignored the paper and kept looking at Derek. 

“What you're doing for him proves how much you care. But if you're really going through with this plan, you should tell him what you feel before it's too late. Derek, honestly you know this is going to be a suicide.” 

“And an epic one, also,” Kira added, eyes glued to the screen and hands fast on the keyboard.

“I honestly don't know why we're helping you planning your death.”

  
Danny glanced at Derek and shrugged, typing in some mind-twisting codes on his own screen. He clearly agreed with Kira. 

Derek just sighed and let them do their job. In the end all he wanted was their help and since they were willing to provide it, he didn't really care about how much they tried to lecture him. 

He had made up his mind long ago. It wasn't a matter of jobs and money anymore. 

Kevin Ito was a threat to Stiles and to him, and potentially to all the people he knew. They were never going to be safe as long as he was alive.

Kevin Ito had to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for the angst🙈


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!🚫 :
> 
> Attempted non-con between the main characters. Please don't read if you are uncomfortable with it.

The sound of the elevator doors opening woke Derek up from his deep thoughts. 

His Jordan shoes met the soft carpet that covered the whole length of the corridor and his feet automatically brought him in front of the right door, which he knew it wasn't locked.   
The man who was living there was expecting his visit. 

He pushed the door opened and walked into the condo. He had called Boyd just a couple of hours before and they had settled that Derek would pay him a visit to discuss some things. 

  
Derek expected the man to show up from behind some corner since he was clearly aware of the hitman's presence in his home by now but nothing happened.

Derek walked around the living room, keeping an eye out for any movement or sound coming from inside the place. 

He knew every room in that suite was soundproofed so he wasn't surprised when he didn't catch a single thing. 

“Vernon Boyd!” He shouted. 

If there was something more annoying than people, it was people who would leave him waiting. 

He sighed and settled down on the couch, waiting for the dealer to appear. There was a sound of a door unlocking and some whispers.

“I'm sorry, I have a client. You need to go.”

  
Derek raised an eyebrow and stood up again, looking in the direction of the voices. 

A door was open on one side of a long white corridor and Boyd emerged from there after a couple of moments. 

He was zipping up his jeans, which was the only piece of clothing he had on. He noticed Derek's presence and ran a hand through his messy hair while walking towards him barefoot. 

“Hey mate,” he smiled, patting Derek on his back. 

His breath was slightly heavy and a his skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat. Derek looked over his shoulders and to the door. 

“Did I interrupt something?” He knew Boyd was the type to always have some nice company so he wasn't the least surprised when he saw a halfnaked boy coming out of the man's room. 

He had thick dark hair and probably the most gorgeous pair of legs Derek had ever seen. 

He quickly walked over to them and shyly smiled at Derek. He had a sweet face with big almond eyes that somehow reminded him of Stiles. 

“Hey...” he approached Boyd and kissed his cheek softly. The man hugged him by his side and kissed his plump lips in exchange. 

“Derek, this is Jacob,” he said, smiling. “Jake, this is Derek. He's reaaally a bad guy so stay away from him. Also, I'm jealous!” 

Jacob laughed, holding most of his clothes and his shoes against his chest. He only wore his underwear and one of Boyd's hoodies.

Derek just nodded as a greeting, but he was growing impatient. Luckily the boy seemed to be a smart one.

“I think it's time for me to go,” he spoke quietly, waving a hand at Boyd and disappearing out of the door. 

  
“Hey remember you need to return the hoodie!” Boyd shouted after him, clearly implying they were going to meet again. 

Derek waited until he could hear the click of the lock before turning his gaze back to the other man. 

“Victim number...?” He grinned. 

Boyd shrugged. “It's actually the third time in a row we meet up.” 

“Sounds dangerous.”

“So does Stiles.” 

Derek looked at the grin on Boyd's lips and knew the man had won. 

He quickly changed subject. 

  
“I already told you everything on the phone,” he said, pushing a piece of paper in Boyd's hands.

“I need this.” 

The two men exchanged an intense stare and Boyd read the few words on the paper. 

“Wait... isn't this for PTSD treatment?” 

Derek was a bit taken aback. 

“I didn't know you were an expert...” 

Boyd clicked his tongue. “Don't underestimate me, it's my job to know stuff.” 

“Your job is to deal stuff.” 

“How can I deal the best stuff without knowing about the stuff?” 

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. I need some bottles of those.”

Boyd raised an eyebrow, reading the paper again and looking concerned.

“Are these for the boy? Is he alright?” 

Derek looked away, to the window and the panorama of the city below. 

New York was so huge he couldn't see the borders. He thought somewhere in that chaos of buildings and bridges and roads there was a small building badly hidden by the rest of the skyscrapers and in that building there was a small, bare room, and in that room Stiles was waiting for his return. 

Or maybe he wasn't, given the latest events. 

Maybe he was happy Derek was away, maybe he was wishing Derek would never come back. 

Derek thought that if he could have the guarantee that Stiles was going to be safe without him, he would have disappeared from his life as fast as light, right in that moment, before it could be too late. 

Would it be the right thing to do? 

  
Yes, Derek was sure of it. 

Stiles wasn't weak, but he was fragile, which was different from being weak. 

Stiles was way stronger than he thought, he had seen and borne things normal people would need lifelong-therapies to overcome, and yet he hadn't given up. 

But he was fragile, and being fragile was something that was out of his control. 

Stiles could push himself to be stronger but not less fragile. 

It was just the way he was, delicate and helpless like a flower in a storm. 

Derek could try to protect him from anything and anyone, but he couldn't protect Stiles from himself and that was maybe the only thing in the world that had managed to nestle a dangerous emotion into the hitman's heart: 

_fear_. 

Derek would deny it to the world a hundred times but he was afraid of what he could do to Stiles more than anything else. 

And Stiles didn't need another time bomb in his life.

  
“He's fine,” he finally replied, running a hand through his hair. 

“I need to talk to you about another load of weapons.”

Boyd just nodded, doubting Derek's words but not wanting to ask further since it was clearly a topic Derek didn't like. 

Like the one he was about to start, probably, but he didn't care:

“Talking about weapons, I've heard you were almost given up for dead.” 

Derek shrugged, hating how fast news spread in the underground network. 

“I'm here as you can see.” 

Boyd gave him the once-over. 

“Yeah, it's what I can't see that worries me,” he walked back to his room without a word, coming back a moment later with a black tee over his head. 

He also fixed his pants before asking Derek to follow him to the kitchen. 

They reached the wide and overly illuminated room, which was almost completely white like the rest of the condo. 

Boyd seemed to like white and metallic surfaces, maybe because they gave a very expensive feeling to everything.

  
He motioned for Derek to sit at the table . Derek was always in a rush while Boyd liked to discuss business peacefully and in a relaxed atmosphere.

“Coffee? Tea? Cola?” He asked like a good host.

Derek was drumming his fingers over the hard surface of the table, looking elsewhere. 

“Coffee would do.” 

Boyd smiled, giving his back to the man and working on the coffee machine. 

“Coming!” 

Derek's lips twitched at the mocked enthusiasm in Boyd's voice. 

He looked like someone who didn't have a problem in the world and though he would always ask Derek about his issues, Derek didn't see the point in sharing his problems with someone like him.

Boyd would always tell him to relax and take it easy because that was what he usually did with his whole life. 

Derek didn't share the same opinion, his life was on the run, was adrenaline and danger and no breaks. 

He couldn't 'take it easy'. It would mean being killed.

  
“So, tell me about this new load you need,”   
Boyd started, sitting in front of him and pushing a cup with a cartoon lion painted on it towards Derek. 

The hitman twisted it around so that he wouldn't see the lion before taking a sip.

“Nothing big, you already provided me everything I need,” Derek admitted, ignoring the amused smirk on Boyd's lips. 

He knew he was the best at his job and Derek hated boasting his already huge confidence. 

“Just a couple of things, I will send you all the details later and you can take all the time you need. I'm in no rush for those.” 

Boyd nodded slowly, sipping the coffee from a cup which had a lion tail as handle and a pair of brown lion ears on the front. 

Derek felt almost frustrated at the amount of lions one could find in Boyd's house. 

“You seem more and more troubled lately,” the man commented, carefully observing Derek from behind his cup. 

“How about a long holiday away from here? You totally need it.” 

Derek raised one corner of his mouth in a crooked grin. 

“Death doesn't take holidays.”

Boyd snorted, rolling his eyes. “Oh come on now, you're not the Grim Reaper, stop boasting your self-esteem.” 

Derek took a long sip of his coffee before putting down the cup and licking his lips slowly.

  
“Indeed. I'm the one running away from him.”

_...._...._

Kevin Ito was walking along a narrow corridor, three men in black suits following him like shadows. Their guns were on display for everyone to see, even though there was no one around them.

The corridor was empty and there weren't any doors at its sides, just one black door at the end of it, which was where the man was heading. 

His steps echoed through the empty space and against the white walls, as to warn whoever was in that room that he was coming.

He pushed the door open without even slowing down his pace and stepped into the wide room, his eyes scanning the place. 

There was a big U-shaped table occupying most of the room, right in front of a big screen. It looked like the average conference room, except there was barely anyone in the room at that moment. 

Kevin looked around, his face showing no emotions. 

“Where is he?” 

The guards exchanged some looks, none of them wanted to speak up but someone had to. 

They couldn't waste a single moment because the man in front of them was more lethal than all of them put together and his patience was really short. 

In the end, one of the guards – the most imposing one – made a step forward and cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak there was a knock sound and the attention of the four men was attracted by a wooden door on one side of the conference room. 

A man in a dark gray suit made his shy entrance, clearly surprised in finding the other men already there. 

The panicked look on his face was clear but Kevin didn't have time to play with his mind as he usually liked to. 

The man quickly approached with a red folder in his hands and bowed down ninety-degrees to his boss. 

Kevin barely glanced at him and took a random seat at the table while the other men kept standing. 

“Well?” He pressed, annoyed. 

The subordinate quickly opened the folder and read through some of the files. 

  
“One of our squads finished cleaning up the place,” he started, his voice shaking a bit. 

“Nothing was stolen, but someone tried to break into our security system...” his voice became weaker and weaker and the agent swallowed hard.

Kevin looked neither impressed nor concerned. He had his elbow on the table and one of his hands was supporting his head. He looked like someone who was listening to some boring tale. 

He glanced at the man, knowing there was more.

“And?” 

“Well, at the time of the assault there was just half of our personal in the building, but nonetheless whoever broke in managed to kill most–... s-some of our agents, including the guard who was in charge of the security system at the time. 

I think they used the guard's fingerprints to break through the first level of security but apparently they didn't manage to get through the other levels and the alarm went off. We have footage of the man but it's impossible to recognize him. He must be a professional though.” 

Kevin looked away, lost in his own thoughts. 

He was pretty sure he knew the culprit behind the assault in one of his peripheral branches, but what he didn't get was why that man named Derek would do something like that. 

_Kevin was sure to be the hitman's target, so why assaulting a peripheral branch of the organization?_

_He knew for sure he wouldn't find Kevin there._

  
_Unless... the motherfucker didn't have a bigger plan._

“How many men,” he asked, brushing his fingertips against the dark surface of the table.

The agent loosened the collar of his shirt. He was sweating a lot. 

“Uhm, he managed to kill eighteen of our men before escaping. Plus the security guard and other four guards outside of the building.” 

  
“Twenty-three men in... how much? Ten minutes?”   
Kevin laughed a lifeless laugh. 

“Impressive, very impressive. Such a pity we let a man like him go.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Kevin stood up looking quite amused, a thing that was making the agent really confused. 

“Send more men to the W-building. And new guards.”

The agent noted down the instructions. 

“Shouldn't we update our security system as well?” 

“He didn't manage to break through it, did he?”

“No, but... next time he could...” 

  
Kevin grinned. “Let him try, it'll be fun. I want to see how good he really is.” 

_I'm the motherfucker you're looking for, hitman. Hurry up, I want to have some fun with you._

  
The agent looked quite uncomfortable and kept loosening the knot of his tie. 

“But... shouldn't we do something about him?” 

He knew all those questions could get him killed but he couldn't help himself. He didn't understand his boss' instructions at all. Sending more men to that building was like waiting for that hitman to show up again and kill them all over. 

_Why would the boss want something like that instead of just closing down that peripheral branch and reinforce security in the other branches_? 

“Of course,” Kevin drummed his fingers against the wooden table.

“It doesn't matter if we're an hundred or a thousand people. He already proved he can take down our agents like flies. We don't need reinforcements... we need someone as skilled as him. A single person can be worth a thousand of our men in situations like these.” 

  
The agent flipped through some other pages of the file he held in his hands. 

“About this topic... I already made some research and I think I found someone who could help us.”

Kevin looked interested in the man for the first time. 

The agent felt the pressure of those cold eyes on him and quickly cleared his throat before going on, 

“It's someone who has already worked with us in the past...”

“This hitman has worked with us as well and I guess he didn't find us nice enough. As you can see, the fact that someone has worked with us in the past doesn't imply we can trust them.” 

  
“...Yes, but this one used to work with the man named Derek as well,” the agent explained. 

He realized he had immediately gotten the boss' utmost attention. 

“And apparently he has a score to settle with him.” 

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “He wants him dead?”

The agent cracked a smile for the first time. His boss looked truly interested and that could only mean he had made the right move. 

“More than that,” he opened the folder to a specific page and showed it to Kevin. 

“He wants to completely destroy the life of this Derek.” 

Kevin quickly read through the mysterious man's file. 

The agent saw a disturbing smile slowly creeping on the man's lips while reading through the various info about the man. 

After a good minute he handed the file back to the agent. 

“Hire him.” 

_...._...._

Derek opened the door to find a dark room, as his living room had been for the past two days. 

He slowly walked through the short corridor leading to the main room only to find the usual bump of blankets where there should have been Stiles' futon. 

The boy had spent most of his time hiding under the blankets since they had come back from Danny's place.

Derek knew what made Stiles so upset but couldn't bring himself to face the situation and start a conversation about it. 

He didn't know how to.

They had barely shared a single word in the past few days and the only moments he had seen Stiles was when the boy would change his bandage or make dinner. 

His eyes were always swollen and his face paler than usual. 

Something into Derek threatened to break everytime he saw the boy like that. Maybe the ice that still covered his heart. 

  
Stiles could hear Derek's steps around the room and he fought the urge to come out of his refuge to face him and tell him what had been on his mind lately. 

He had felt the need to just isolate himself from the world and deal with his own thoughts but it had been a bad idea. 

Because the more he thought, the more he felt trapped in his own fears and worries, the more he felt unable to face Derek about it. 

It wasn't only about Erica, it would have been stupid and superficial of him to get so worked up over a relationship that was clearly already dead and buried by then, even thought it still hurt to remember what had happened at Danny's place.

The main problem was actually that Stiles wanted Derek to give up on the plan. 

He didn't want Derek to go on, he didn't care about the money or Kevin or The Nogitsune or anything, really. 

He just wanted Derek to be safe. 

  
If Derek was going to die while trying to kill Kevin he would never forgive himself.

He curled himself up under the covers and sighed. 

He needed to get up and talk to Derek, now.

Those two days of dark thoughts had brought nothing good upon him, just more worries. 

  
He could hear the hitman fumbling around in the kitchen and he wondered if maybe he was waiting for Stiles to say something. 

Derek wasn't the type to start a conversation but maybe he wanted to talk as well. 

  
Stiles sighed again, more deeply, and finally removed the blankets from his head, revealing his messy hair and the dark circles under his eyes. 

He knew without looking that he had Derek's eyes on him because he noticed the hitman's movements had stopped as soon as he had removed the blankets. 

He got up and hugged his waist as if he was trying to shield himself.   
He briefly glanced at Derek and then looked away. 

“Can we talk?” 

  
Derek dropped whatever he was doing – he didn't even know what, exactly – and slightly nodded, resting his back against the wall near the door of his room, which was open.

He crossed his bare arms against the sculptured chest covered in one of his usual black tees – he either never felt cold or wasn't human -, the tattooed arm stood out against the other one.

  
Stiles approached and rested his lower back and palms against the border of the kitchen table, so to face the hitman. 

Probably just a meter separating them, or slightly more.

“Erica,” Derek said all of a sudden, his voice sounding even deeper than usual. 

He wasn't looking at Stiles but he briefly glanced at the younger before going on, “it was just sex.”

  
Stiles got to know what it felt to have a knife stuck in his heart right in that moment. 

He realized the fact, his mind had already accepted that something had happened between Derek and Erica wasn't helping his heart in metabolizing the truth any better or faster. 

It still hurt badly.

He took a deep breath and the cold air slapped his throat like he hadn't been breathing for ages,

“Okay,” he quietly said, his head low. 

  
“ It was a long time ago, We weren't... I'm..” 

Derek went on, trailing off without knowing how to explain it without causing more damages. 

He thought Stiles wanted to discuss that matter but he looked already so sad Derek doubted the boy could handle that discussion any longer. 

“I know,” Stiles murmured, hugging himself again and looking as fragile as a twig in a hurricane.

  
“Actually, this is not what I wanted to talk about.”

  
Derek was taken aback but as always managed to hide his emotions. Arms still crossed against his chest, he scrutinized Stiles' figure to find anything that could tell him what was on his mind. 

He failed, he felt powerless and irritated because he used to read the younger's mind so well.

“I want–... I had time to think about something,” 

Stiles began, stumbling on his own words, his tongue not collaborating with his brain and none of them following his pre-formulated speech.

Derek's lips twitched a bit, he was listening carefully to every word coming out from those soft lips. 

He didn't know why but he felt something terrifyingly similar to anxiety invading his chest.

“Last week–... I mean, you're still wounded,” 

Stiles bit his lower lip, avoiding Derek's gaze. 

“And never in my life I will be able to forget when Liam brought you home barely alive. Those images will haunt me forever,” he sighed, feeling Derek's eyes burning on his skin but he just couldn't meet his eyes. 

“I want... I want a break.”

  
Every muscle in Derek's body stiffened, his face becoming a cold mask. His mind was racing to decipher the meaning behind Stiles' words and he didn't want to show any reaction before the boy would explain himself.

"I could leave if-" Derek started.

Stiles realized his words could be misleading and quickly looked up to meet the ice in Derek's eyes. 

He panicked, raising his hands in front of him and shaking his head, 

“N-no, I meant... we should take a break. Let's run away from here. Let's go somewhere else for a while,” 

_or forever_ , he mentally added to himself. 

Derek's features relaxed, though he still didn't get the reason behind Stiles' request. 

He thought the boy wanted Kevin dead as much or even more than Derek, he knew they needed to stay in here. 

He slowly shook his head. “You know we can't.”

  
“We can,” 

Stiles replied immediately. 

“More of that, we should. It's too dangerous here, I'm tired of living in the constant fear that- that one day you won't come back to me,” he admitted, lowering his eyes on the floor again. 

_There, he had said it. The only thing that mattered to him, maybe the truest of his thoughts._

He just couldn't deal with the possibility of losing Derek. 

  
Derek noticed the slight tremble of the younger's lips but just couldn't understand his words. 

Nowhere was going to be safe as long as Kevin was alive. 

_Stiles was asking him to leave everything and take a vacation? What for?_  
_To come back and find themselves in the same exact situation as before?_

  
He sighed, brushing a hand on his face in a tired gesture.

“We can't leave New York. I need to accomplish a job,” he stated firmly. 

He then looked Stiles straight in his eyes. 

“The job you paid me for, remember?” 

Stiles' lips became a tight line. He was about to explode, he could feel it. He had tried to work around the topic but he just couldn't avoid it anymore. 

He had to be direct. 

It was true, it was him who had given Derek the job. So he could as well take it back.

He felt stronger with that thought in mind, so he crossed his arms and faced Derek with no hesitation left in his features. 

“I want you to give up on Kevin”

The words seemed to hang in the air for a while, echoing on the grayish walls and slowly fading out after what felt like a long time. 

  
There was some tension between the two figures standing in the kitchen, a tension so thick one could cut it with a knife. 

That name sounded so incredibly wrong rolling off Stiles' tongue. 

It was almost disturbing to hear and something clicked in Derek's mind. 

A switch went off, causing a blackout.

  
Stiles swallowed hard, trying to keep a straight face while waiting for Derek's reaction. 

He knew the hitman wasn't going to agree at first but eventually Stiles was going to convince him, it was all he could do. 

They could just leave everything behind, leave that filthy city and finally start their lives elsewhere, somewhere where they could be free, together and - hopefully – in love. 

  
Derek closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing and nothing else. 

_One, two, three... you can do this_

  
“I won't give up on anything,” he finally said, his words coming out way slower than usual. 

His voice was weird as well, Stiles noticed. 

“You know why I need to do it.” 

Stiles nodded – as expected Derek was offering resistance to his order. 

“Because you think we're never going to be safe as long as that man is alive” 

  
“I don't think, I know–” 

  
“But the world is a wide place, Derek,” 

Stiles went on, cutting him off and only unknowingly increasing the frustration that the hitman already felt inside him. 

  
“We can go anywhere we want, he won't find us. I don't think he's interested in tracking us down for the rest of his life, we will be free, eventually,” 

he crooked a smile, that immediately disappeared in front of the dark look on Derek's face. 

On the outside it looked like the hitman hadn't even flinched, still back on the wall and arms crossed, but Stiles could tell something was pretty different. 

Derek looked like a statue, his every muscle was somehow paralyzed. 

While they were discussing darkness had descended on the city and half of the hitman's face was hidden by the shadows. 

He could only see his tight lips clearly.

“No,” Derek just said. 

His voice was sending a message: _the discussion ends here._

In his eyes, Stiles was suddenly back to being the naïve, troublesome boy he had brought to his home that first day. 

He clearly didn't understand how dangerous the man he was hunting down was, he clearly didn't understand just how dangerous the whole organization was and he clearly didn't want to understand that they had no other way of coming out of that situation alive without killing Kevin Fucking Ito.

  
And he was just throwing all Derek’s efforts away, he was clearly ignoring how Derek had way more experience than him in that kind of situations, he was clearly implying Derek was stupid for not thinking of such an easy solution like running away to some unknown place, like Derek wouldn't put Stiles on the first flight away from this madness if he had the guarantee the boy would then be safe. 

  
But no, for Stiles Stilinski, everything could be solved with a plane ticket and maybe a couple of fake ID cards. 

  
_The world is a wide place, Derek._

_Bullshits_. 

  
He turned on his heels and walked into his room just to feel a strong hold on his arm. 

His breath hitched in his throat, all his attempts to calm himself were going to waste as Stiles kept pushing him over the limit. 

  
“I won't let you go on with this madness!” Stiles cried, pulling on his arm like a stubborn child. 

Derek remembered how Jackson had said a very similar thing about his plan in the beginning and the thought only increased the anger already building up inside him.

The more he tried to do the right thing for all the people he knew, the more he heard something negative like that. 

It was tiring, frustrating, irritating. 

  
The darkness inside of him was slowly eating every inch of his rationality, his mind going more and more blank by the second while his hands started trembling. 

He needed to destroy something. 

A chair. 

A life. 

  
“You asked me to do it in the first place,” he growled, turning around to face Stiles once again.

The boy instinctively stepped back. 

“A-and now I'm asking you to give up!” Stiles retorted, his eyebrows furrowed together in an expression that was half-determined and half-worried about Derek's reaction.

Derek smiled walking towards him, but it was a dark smile, a creepy smile that sent shivers up Stiles' spine. 

Derek was smiling but was not amused,- at all.

  
“Too bad it's too late to take that back now,” 

Derek explained slowly, 

“ _now that you fucked up both your life and mine!”_

  
He took one of the chairs that was now standing between him and Stiles and threw it away blindly.

Stiles jolted and kept going backwards, Derek's words hitting him like a hammer. 

He knew deep inside he had somehow ruined the hitman's life but hearing it from Derek's mouth was even more horrifying. 

He knew it was all his fault if The Nogitsune had found Derek again, but Derek had never tried to make him feel guilty about it up until now.

“B-but we can still run away, both of us! Together!” Stiles tried again, but he could feel there was no conversation with Derek anymore. 

The hitman's eyes had grown a new shade of dark and they were empty, like a thick fog had covered the man's mind. 

His face was as expressionless as ever while he approached Stiles, throwing away everything that was between them. 

“Sure we can,” Derek said, and Stiles realized with terror his back had just hit the wall and he was now trapped. 

“I'm sure they'll have tons of fun tracking us down and cutting our throats while we sleep on some exotic island,” the hitman went on, slamming one hand above Stiles' head.

“Because this was your plan, right? Running away to some unknown place? Do you think there's a single square meter on this fucking planet where they wouldn't find us?!”

  
“Y-You're scaring me,” Stiles said, his voice trembling while he looked up to meet the man's eyes. 

It was like looking through black glass. 

“Derek, you're scaring me,” he repeated, louder, as if he was trying to reach that part of the Derek that he knew was still there, somewhere lost in the fog. 

His mind was telling him to run, to really run for his life. 

And while all those alarms rang in his head, Stiles eventually realized it: 

_Derek was going to hurt him_. 

  
Derek didn't reply, his lips were tight again. He grabbed Stiles' neck with one hand, almost lifting him up from the floor while he tightened his grip. 

Stiles scratched Derek's hand with his own, digging his nails in his skin, but couldn't manage to free himself. 

He gasped for air, looking straight into his aggressor's eyes as to beg for freedom.

Derek had other plans. 

His grip indeed loosened around Stiles' neck, but he pushed him aside with violence, making him fall on his futon, which clearly wasn't enough to break the fall. 

  
Stiles hit his back hard and was left breathless for some moments. 

Derek was on him in the blink of an eye. 

He blocked Stiles' wrists up on his head with one hand and started mouthing on his neck like an hungry animal, leaving bleeding marks on his skin. 

Stiles screamed in pain and tried to kick him away but Derek's hold was too strong and he was sitting on his pelvis, blocking his whole body under him. 

“STOP! STOP IT!” Stiles cried, his nightmare beginning all over again. 

He couldn't believe it.

That wasn't Derek. 

That wasn't happening. 

It couldn't happen again.

  
“Derek!” 

If the man could hear him, he clearly didn't show it. Stiles felt his hot breath against his neck, his blood pulsing on every spot where Derek had bitten him, leaving small open cuts that hurt like hell. 

But not as badly as his heart. 

Suddenly everything that he found attractive about Derek disappeared: 

_his body against his own, his breath against his skin, his lips near his ears, his warm hands on his body._

  
He felt all that but it didn't give him a reassuring or pleasing feeling anymore. 

What he felt was only fear and disgust. 

He turned his head to the side and pressed his cheek against his arm stretched over his head, sobbing in silence while Derek kept destroying the skin of his neck and shoulders with his teeth. 

It never really ended, Stiles thought. 

No matter how hard he tried, he always found himself in the same situation. 

What was the point in trying to escape then? 

  
_Maybe he deserved it._

Maybe it was just faith.

  
Just when he thought he had found someone who would really protect him and would never hurt him, there he was again. 

_Trapped under a human being who wasn't human at all._

  
Derek left Stiles' neck to grab his shirt with his free hand, pulling at it and ripping it like it was made of air. 

But he didn't stop there. He started pulling down the younger man's pants soon after and that was when Stiles' eyes widened. 

Derek lowered his pants down to his knees and had to leave Stiles' wrists in order to remove them completely along with his boxers. 

The boy didn't even try to move a single inch, as paralyzed as he was. 

“Derek.. Derek please!, I beg you...” he murmured in between sobs, his voice weak and broken, 

“please don't hurt me....! Can you hear me? Please... Please...” 

  
He found himself naked under the other man before he could even let out the last words. 

Derek got on his knees and started fumbling with his own belt, still not saying a word. 

  
Stiles looked up and saw the cold eyes, the dark look on the man's face, and somehow he knew there was nothing he could do. He wasn't even sure if the man in front of him was still Derek at all. 

He knew those cold eyes too well, he had seen them for years on another man's face. 

But his will to survive was still bigger than his fear.

He started kicking again and tried to crawl away from the man, screaming when Derek easily grabbed his arms and forced him on the futon again. 

Stiles cried in pain from the strong hold, he felt like Derek was twisting his whole arm down to the bones. 

All he gained was a smack on his face, so hard that it turned his head to the side. 

  
He stayed there then, crying silently , his eyes empty and looking at nothing while Derek unzipped his own pants with one free hand. 

There was really no point in fighting anymore.

  
“Please...” 

  
shaky whispers were still leaving his lips nonetheless. 

  
“Please, stop...”

  
Derek spread his legs, not even bothering to remove his own clothes. 

He grabbed at Stiles' thighs with violence, pushing his legs against his chest, his fingers leaving marks wherever they touched Stiles' body. 

Stiles knew what was about to come. 

He shut his eyes, painful memories filling up his mind as he was about to live that nightmare again. 

He felt a lump in his throat , his head was about to explode, the hands on his body seemed to multiply as he felt dirtier and dirtier.. but most all ..... he was scared to death.

“ ** _Kevin!_** ” 

His voice croaked and broke, his body ready to feel the unbearable pain he knew too well. 

But nothing happened. 

  
There was a long moment of silence in which all Stiles could hear was a heavy breathing on top of him. 

When he found enough courage to open his eyes again, Derek had removed his hands from his thighs and was looking at Stiles with an expression the latter had never seen on his face.

  
_Derek was terrified_. 

  
Stiles slowly lowered his aching legs, sitting up and curling up against the wall, all the while keeping his eyes on Derek as if he was expecting him to attack any minute. 

Derek's face was different now: his eyes weren't empty anymore, he looked conscious and present and aware. 

He looked around, lost, as if he didn't remember how they had ended up in that situation.

  
He saw the broken items and Stiles' ripped clothes. 

Something in his chest sank. 

  
He looked at Stiles again and the latter just tried to push himself against the wall a bit more, like he wanted to blend with it and disappear from Derek's sight. 

That was probably what he wanted to do, staying as far away as possible from Derek. 

Stiles was shivering all over and tried to cover his naked self with his arms, keeping his gaze on Derek. 

In his eyes was only pain and the deepest fear for the man in front of him. 

He looked at Derek like he was someone unknown to him. 

Derek could read it all, all those emotions he would have never wanted to see in Stiles' eyes. 

Not for anyone, not for _him_.

  
What he had feared the most had just happened.

  
Stiles jolted instinctively as soon as Derek got up. 

He looked like a ill-treated puppy who couldn't trust the person who had tortured him but at the same time didn't know how to escape. 

He was still crying, looking so small in that corner, his terrified, liquid eyes were on the hitman, as if he was waiting for a final blow from him.

Derek's soul fell into pieces.

He swallowed hard and fought the urge to go there and hug Stiles to his chest, reassure him and tell him he was going to protect him. 

He couldn't make any more promises to him because now he was the threat. 

His head was spinning as he turned around, he knew that was no place for him anymore. He couldn't stay by Stiles' side. The least he could do now when he had destroyed everything good he ever had in his life, was to remove the threat from Stiles' life. 

His feet blindly guided him to the door. He fought against himself not to turn around and glance at Stiles one last time. 

He didn't deserve it. 

He didn't deserve anything anymore, and maybe he never did. 

  
He closed the door behind him and disappeared from Stiles' life. 

_...._...._

The gate was crowded at that time of the day. 

People in a rush to take their flights and people in a rush to get out of there and finally reach home.

Among the crowd of people there was a single man walking through the hallway with just a small briefcase in his gloved hand, his pace steady and calm. 

He wore all black from head to toe, except his dark brown hair that was shaved at both sides. 

He had a long coat covering most of his body down to his knees and wore black sunglasses that gave him a totally anonymous look. 

The man walked out of the airport and checked the time on his wristwatch before looking around.

He didn't have to wait long. 

A black Bentley Continental slowed down in front of the sidewalk and stopped right in front of him. 

A man dressed in a black suit came out from the passenger side and proceeded to open the backdoor for him, bowing to him as the man got into the car. 

He settled down on the backseat, putting the briefcase by his side. He had one guard sat near him and other two on the front seats, one of them being the driver. 

They all wore the same clothes and had pins on their jackets representing a fox with a pair of glowing red eyes. 

The man looked out of the window and smirked.

  
“It's nice to be finally back.” 

_...._...._

Stiles was awaken by the sound of the door lock. His muscles immediately stiffened as he tried to hide in the shadows. 

He had fallen asleep still naked and curled up in the corner, without realizing. 

The night was over and the first morning lights were coming from the windows. His body felt numb and he had pain everywhere for the uncomfortable position he had been sleeping in. 

But he couldn't care less in that moment. 

  
Someone was coming, and it was probably Derek. 

He didn't know what the hitman could do to him once he came back, he had been dreading that moment the whole time. 

He couldn't even escape because he had nowhere to go and he felt so tired and destroyed both mentally and physically.   
He couldn't even get up on his feet. 

And now he was about to find out what was going to become of him. 

Stiles looked to the door with his eyes wide in fear. His whole body started trembling as soon as heard slow steps coming in his direction. 

He still couldn't see Derek but it was a matter of seconds before he would turn around that corner.

  
“Stiles?”

  
The familiar voice had the same effect of a warm hand caressing his skin and washing away his pain, even just for a short while. 

His muscles relaxed and he looked up to meet the familiar pair of eyes.

Jackson walked into the room and looked around into that chaos, his face tensed with concern. 

His eyes scanned the broken chairs and items in the dim light and it took him a while to notice the shaking figure in the corner. 

His eyes widened in shock. 

“Shit,” 

he ran to Stiles and knelt beside him, quickly removing his jacket and wrapping it around Stiles' naked body. 

“Shit Stiles, are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

He looked into the younger boy's eyes to make sure he was conscious. Stiles just looked into Jackson's eyes without saying a word, wondering if that was reality or just a dream. 

  
Jackson slid one hand behind Stiles' back and one under his knees, lifting him up and holding him against his chest. 

“You'll be alright,” he whispered, his lips becoming a tight line soon after.

  
He carried Stiles to Derek's room and made a move of laying him on the bed. 

Stiles realized where he was and started grabbing at Jackson's shirt. 

  
“No... N-no... not here...” he murmured, frightened to death. 

Jackson's face fell, 

“He's not here,” he whispered, caressing Stiles' forehead and running a hand through his hair softly. 

  
“Derek is not here...” 

  
_I am so sorry, I should have warned you when I had the chance_.

Stiles looked around and only managed to calm down when he realized Jackson was right. He wrapped Jackson's jacket tighter around his body, still shaking all over. 

He had small wounds on his neck and dark finger marks on his thighs. 

Jackson noticed it all and covered him with the blanket. He was going to take care of those later.

  
“It's... going to be okay,” he just managed to say. 

The situation was way more serious that he had thought when Derek had sent him that message. 

He barely had the time to put foot on American ground before his phone started ringing. 

  
“I will take care of you, okay?” 

Stiles looked at him with desperate eyes, grabbing at Jackson's wrist. 

“W-where is he?” He stuttered, still looking around like the hitman could pop out any moment.

“Where is De-Derek?” 

Jackson looked at the tight grip on his wrist, those pale, trembling fingers barely managed to surround it completely. 

  
He sighed and looked away. 

“He's gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write. Definitely not my favorite topic to write about.😥😥 anyways.... thoughts?


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out! For : Explicit Derek x OC
> 
> Thats the warning 🙅

The sky was clear and starless, painted in a deep dark blue that left no doubt about what time of the night it could be. 

It was really late, and just a couple of people were walking down the street. It was an isolated neighborhood of the city that certainly wasn't inhabited by the good families. 

It was barely inhabited, in fact, but the man walking with quick and steady steps down the road seemed to know where he was going.

His sneakers crossed meter after meter on the dark sidewalk, the gray hoodie over his head made it impossible to recognize him, most of all, at that time of the night.

The man turned around a corner without hesitation, hands in his pockets, like he had been there hundreds of times. He could hear faint voices coming from somewhere not too far, but it was impossible to hear them from the main street.   
The people who were there clearly didn't want to be found.

  
After a hundred meters and one more corner, there was a narrow alley like those that would immediately make people think of drug dealers and crime scenes. 

It wouldn't have been a wrong impression, for what was happening in that particular alley was indeed not legal. 

Some people – there were maybe thirty men and some women – were all in circle around something that the man couldn't see from there, but he didn't need to because he knew exactly what was happening.

He could hear the cheers and the shouting and noticed a man leaning on the wall just beside the circle of people, like he wasn't interested in the scene in front of him.   
He was counting an incredible number of banknotes in his hands.

  
The newcomer knew he had to make a bet if he wanted to stay there. He made his way through the crowd until he could see what's occurring in the center of the circle. 

  
Two men were facing each other, their fighting poses resembled those of wild animals. It was cold but they just wore pants and wifebeaters, a younger looking man wore a white one and his opponent, a gray one. 

They were sweating a lot and looked quite tired, but still aggressive and ready to fight. 

“Okay, last minute gambles, now or never!” Said the man against the wall, looking bored.

  
Some people approached him with money ready in their hands, the newcomer was among them. 

He pulled down his hoodie and gave some banknotes to the older man. 

“Twenty bucks on White Shirt,” Jackson said, slapping his money on the man's sweaty hand without touching it. 

The latter eyed him suspiciously, but took the money anyway.

“That boy has been a total chicken for the first two rounds, too bad you weren't here to see it,” he said, smirking and waving Jackson's money in front of him. 

“I guess I will keep this.” 

  
Jackson just grinned and went back to the circle, not the least worried. 

The third round started soon after, with both men studying each other for long moments, waiting for the right time to strike a blow. 

The younger one – the one with the white shirt – already had a bleeding lip and some other bruises, but his eyes were as sharp and fierce as ever. 

Most of the people there were clearly rooting for the older man, who was probably some well-known streetfighter of that area. 

Jackson slipped both hands in his pockets and waited.

Gray Shirt struck the first attack, trying to punch White Shirt right in the face. The younger man easily avoided the blow, grabbed Gray Shirt's fist, twisted his arm around and forced him on the ground without releasing the grip on his arm. 

The older man was reduced to a bunch of painful moans in less than a second. White Shirt stepped on his back with one foot and grinned, looking around. 

Everyone was astonished. 

The newbie had just defeated the streetfighting star without much effort. 

His eyes met with Jackson's for a moment and the latter saw a sparkle of awareness in the fighter's eyes. 

Jackson turned on his heels and left the circle, going back to the boss. 

“Guess you won't keep that, old man,” Jackson said, grinning and offering his palm to the other man, who reluctantly gave him a pack of banknotes. 

Jackson slipped the money in one of his pockets and noticed White Shirt approaching. 

“What the fuck was that,” the old man asked him, incredibly mad.  
“You made everyone believe you were a fool for the first two rounds.” 

The fighter picked up his jacket from the sidewalk and smiled. 

“I call it a strategy?” He laughed.

The old man was clearly thinking of more than one way to kill the young one right there and then, but in the end he had to give him almost all the money he had been meticulously counting all that time. 

  
The fighter could barely fit it all in his pockets, then walked away with a satisfied smirk on his lips. 

Jackson reached his side with a couple of long steps and waved the money in front of the other man.

  
“I made some good money, thanks,” he grinned.

Liam glanced at the papers while pulling his wet hair back. 

He was soaked in sweat and that poor jacket clearly wasn't going to protect him from the cold wind of New York night but he didn't seem to mind.

“Long time no see,” he simply said. 

“I'm glad you had so much faith in me,” he cracked a fake smile and nodded at the money.

  
Jackson smiled. “I may have more experience than you in killings but you're surely the best at streetfighting. Why are you still doing this shit by the way? I thought the cleaning paid well.” 

  
Liam shrugged, his steps slow and almost dragged on the sidewalk. He was tired.

“Just for fun, I guess,” he looked down at his shoes. 

“You never really forget the place you come from, right?” 

It was Jackson's turn to shrug this time, but he didn't answer. He kicked a pebble and they walked in silence for a while, just the time to get back on the main street.

“You can tell me now”

Liam looked up from the sidewalk but Jackson wasn't looking at him.

He knew the older man wanted something from him the moment he had seen him in the crowd but he still didn't understand what Jackson could possibly want from him and he was too tired to guess. 

He sighed, “What are you talking about?” 

Jackson attempted a smile. “Where is Derek?”

Liam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, letting Jackson go ahead for a couple of steps before he stopped as well and turned around to face the other man.

The look on the younger's face was of pure confusion, 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“No, I don't. Where is Derek? Isn't he at his place?” 

Jackson raised an eyebrow and studied the other man's features for a while, trying to see if he was lying. 

He was usually pretty good at catching liars, but he couldn't detect anything from Liam's face. He looked sincerely confused. 

Jackson cursed under his breath. 

“Where the fuck is that asshole...”

  
Liam grabbed him by the shoulder and forced the man to face him. 

“What happened?” He was deadly serious.

Jackson met Liam's concerned stare and sighed.

“He disappeared.”

“Why?” 

“It doesn't matter, I need to know where the hell he went.” 

  
Liam stayed silent for a while, studying Jackson's face. 

“Did he hurt the bo- Stiles ?” 

  
He didn't even need to wait for an answer because the older's face was like an open book in that moment.

“Shit, what did he–” 

“It doesn't matter,” Jackson repeated. 

“I need to find him and you're clearly useless,” he freed himself from the man's grip and walked away. 

  
“You know what it means, right?” came Liam's voice from behind, after some moments. 

Jackson kept walking, though he couldn't help but hear the next few words coming from the younger man. 

“If he didn't tell either of us it can only mean one thing.” 

Jackson slipped both hands in his pockets, but not before pulling the hood back on his head.

Somehow the weather seemed colder than before.

He sighed, raising his eyes at the night sky and letting his thoughts come out in whispers. 

  
“He doesn't want to be found.” 

_...._...._

Derek pulled the knife out of the man's throat, mindless of the blood splatters coming from his carotid as his heart was still playing his last beats, making his veins pulse.

Some of it splashed all over his face and hands, not sparing his clothes either. 

The hitman got up from his bending position and looked at the rattling man with empty eyes, his desperate and vain attempts to breath with an open throat didn't have any impact on him. His heart was as numb as ever.

The last image of this filthy world the man would bring with him in the afterlife was that of his murderer with his blood splattered all over his cold features. 

Derek gained some kind of sick pleasure at the thought.

He walked away from the dying man just as he was exhaling his last breath and reached another one, who was a bit more alive than the previous one, though he probably had a broken leg and so many bruises that the color of his skin was almost blue. 

Derek kicked his side and then pressed his foot on his throat hard enough to make him feel pain but not to prevent him from speaking. 

He pointed the loaded gun at his face, a trail of blood rolling down and out of his sleeve and onto the man's left cheek. 

  
“Pròsto dàj to shto mne nùzhno, i yà sokhranyù tebè zhyzn'” (“Give me what I want and I will spare your life”) 

The man tried to shook his head though he couldn't do much with Derek's foot blocking his neck. His eyes were wide in fear, though his facial features told he used to be one of those fierce men with scary faces. 

Now it was just a trembling lamb under the hitman's control. 

  
“Ty znàyesh zachèm ya zdes’,” Derek went on. 

“Podùmaj yèsli eta gryàznaya fìrma stòit tvoyèj zhyzni. Ty khòchesh probyt’ nasekòmym do kontsà tvoìkh dnèj?” (“You know why I'm here. Ask yourself if this filthy company is worth your life. Do you want to be a cockroach til the end?”)

  
The man's chest was going up and down so fast he was practically whimpering. He was clearly terrified but kept shaking his head.

“Ya nichevò ne znayu.” (“I don't know anything.”)

  
Derek tilted his head to the side, like he wanted to see him from a different angle. His expression looked almost human for a moment. 

“Fine,” he removed the foot from the man's throat and the relief on the latter's face was almost too much too handle. 

Then Derek burnt a hole right at the center of his forehead, splattering his brains all over the floor.

  
“This could have been less annoying for the both of us,” he leaned down and slipped a hand inside the man's jacket, his fingers meeting a little hard object almost immediately. 

He got up again and slipped the little thing in his pocket.

His phone started ringing right in that moment. He fished it out of his pocket, his black eyes scanning the screen and the name written on it.

_Jackson_

Derek hung up without answering, like he had been doing for days now. 

His long black coat ruffled behind him as he walked out of the room unloading and re-loading his semi-automatic with a new set of munitions, though he knew better there wasn't a single person left alive in the whole building. 

He stepped over the cold bodies of his victims as he reached the exit, three floors below. 

There were corpses all over the stairs as well but it was like Derek couldn't even see them, as he mercilessly stepped on this arm or that head.

  
He fished out his phone from his pockets and dialed a number as soon as he could breathe in the fresh air of Moscow night again. 

“It's done,” he said to whoever was on the other side of the line. 

“But I had to cut more heads that you paid me for. I want five more millions into my account by tomorrow or you can say goodbye to your precious files,” 

He took the little USB from his pocket and raised it in front of his eyes to take a closer look at it in the moonlight. 

There was a moment of silence from the other side of the line and then a grin slowly creeped on Derek's lips.

It was completely soulless. Just a twitch of lips and nothing more. 

Nothing human. 

  
“That's why I like to do business with you.” 

_...._...._

Scott put all his instruments back in the bag and sighed, then rubbed his furrowed forehead with two of his fingers. 

He left the room and put the bag on the kitchen table, feeling Jackson's eyes on him, knowing the man was impatient.

“He's fine,” Scott shrugged. “There's no sign of sexual assault.” 

  
Jackson raised an eyebrow, “No sign?”

  
He glanced towards Stiles, who was still in Derek's room, sitting on the bed as he slowly buttoned his shirt up, his fingers lingering on every button for a long while. 

His eyes were empty, looking somewhere undefined. His neck was littered with red marks, as opposed to the black ones on his thighs.

  
“There's no sign of–” Scott glanced at the door and reduced his voice to a whisper. “There's no sign of rape.” 

He was serious, and for the first time he looked like he truly cared about the boy's well-being.

Jackson sighed, thanking whatever High Power could be out there for the news. 

  
“So... how is he?” 

Scott sat at the table and running a hand through his hair. He was tired and looked at a loss of words. 

“What remains, except some bruises, is the psychological impact,” he said after a short while. 

“I'm no psychologist but he is clearly going to have issues because of this event.” 

Jackson slowly nodded.

“He had issues before as well... Derek told me.. uh.. you know...cause of Kevin Ito,...” 

  
“What kind of issues?”

  
“He said Post traumatic stress disorder” 

Scott looked at Jackson with wide eyes. 

“Are you fucking kidding–” he slammed a hand over the table and looked away. 

“Damn Derek, what the hell are you thinking?” He growled through gritted teeth. 

In the end, Scott was still a medic and he couldn't help but worry for other people's wellbeing, most of all if they were involved with his friends.

  
Jackson looked down at his phone screen and wondered the same thing. 

_Where was Derek and what the hell was he thinking?_

  
He had called him again and again during those last few days but he didn't get any response, not even once. 

No one in their circle of acquaintances knew where he was, which meant he clearly didn't want to be found. 

But Jackson wasn't going to give up like that. He wanted to hear what had happened from Derek's mouth and he wanted to know what he was going to do to make up for the damage he had coused.

“What do I have to do?” Jackson asked, lost. 

He guessed Stiles had to follow some therapy and looked at Scott, waiting for an answer. 

The other man sighed and shook his head. 

“It's not something you can cure with medicines. Well, not completely, at least. Something will always remain... It all depends from him,” they both turned around to check on Stiles. 

The boy was now sitting on the pillow, his back against the headboard of the bed. He looked like an abandoned doll.   
He was looking somewhere outside the window, the last rays of daylight hitting his pale face. He was still in his boxers and shirt. 

Jackson clenched his fists at the sight of those black bruises on his thighs.

Stiles hadn't spoken a word since that episode had happened. He looked lost in his own world, he would stare at things for a very long time and would barely answer anyone's questions. 

He looked completely detached and without a bit of strength left. 

  
More than once Jackson had thought about what he was going to do when he was to meet Derek again. He knew that whole situation was caused by a problem Derek couldn't control, but the will to punch his face was still so strong. 

Stiles was suffering and Derek was nowhere to be found. It was madness.

  
“I'm glad Derek is not here,” Scott suddenly said, as if he was reading Jackson's mind.

The other man looked at him with wide eyes. 

Scott slowly nodded, adding, “ Stiles is clearly not ready to face him now. He would only cause him a bigger trauma.   
It will probably take some time before he can even start thinking about Derek again without causing himself a mental breakdown.” 

Jackson's eyes shifted from Scott to Stiles and then to Scott again. He realized what Scott was saying was probably right.

  
_Is that why you disappeared, Derek?_

  
“I need to explain the situation to him,” Jackson decided.  
“In case Derek comes back. He needs to know. He will probably leave this place after what happened anyway, but he needs to know about Derek's real conditions.”

Scott nodded. “Honestly, someone should have told him a long time ago. How could you let him live with Derek without telling him how dangerous he can get?” 

Jackson returned the gaze, cold. “It was none of my business. He is Derek's client.” 

  
“Oh, so now he is your business?”

  
Jackson abruptly stood up, looking disturbed. He started pacing the room with one hand in his blond hair.

“Things changed,” he simply said. 

It wasn't enough to even begin to explain the mess he had in his mind and chest but he didn't know how else to explain the situation. 

  
Scott stood up as well, taking his jacket, 

“I don't know what's wrong with the both of you,” he stated, wearing it. He picked up his bag again and pushed his hair back. 

  
“First Derek, now you. The greatest killers in America both falling for the same boy. I really don't know what the fuck is going on, but you better remember he is not part of our world and you're only ruining him.” 

  
“I didn't fall–” 

  
“You both need to find a way to make him get out of this alive, not to ruin his life more than it already is,” Scott went on, not listening. 

“And shut the fuck up, I have eyes and I know how to use them. There is some fucking cheesy drama shit going on here and I'm not going to be a part of it.  
Make sure he's safe and try to help him making it through the trauma. It's not going to be easy, I warn you. Don't fuck this up any further.” 

He was out of the door before Jackson could even open his mouth again. 

The hitman made an annoyed face and kicked the couch out of frustration. 

Scott's words messing with his head again.

In a rush of adrenaline, he took the phone from his table and dialed Derek's number once again. 

He waited fifteen rings before surrendering to the fact that Derek wasn't going to answer and hung up, throwing the phone on the couch with annoyance.

  
“That fucking asshole!” 

_...._...._

_Derek found himself in a dark room, nothing but silence surrounding him. He looked around but he couldn't see anything except the thick blackness._

_He felt strangely calm though he didn't know where he was or who or what could possibly hide in the darkness._

_He took a step forward and all of a sudden he saw his shadow on the floor in front of him. It meant there was some kind of light behind him, so he turned around to find the source of the light._

_There was indeed a faint moonlight coming from a little window that was too high for him to reach. The window had bars, just like in a prison, though it was too narrow to allow anyone to escape through it._

_Derek wondered if he maybe was in some prison cell._

_But how?_

_And why?_

_He was way too skilled to be caught._

_A low and hushed sound suddenly came from an unknown corner of the still mysterious room. Derek recognized it as a sob._

_So he wasn't alone._

  
_“Who are you?” he immediately asked, his senses on alert. His arms reached out into the darkness to find nothing._

_“You already forgot my name?”_

  
_The hitman's every feature froze at the voice. It was the one he knew too well and one he thought he would never hear again._

_“Stiles”_

  
_The name slipped off his tongue before he could help it. He immediately bit his lower lip and kept reaching out in the darkness to find the boy._

_“It's the first time you said my name...”_

_A dim light was suddenly turned on behind him and Derek jolted around, his eyes immediately falling on the small figure of a thin boy sitting on a small bunk in the corner._

_Stiles looked malnourished, his clothes dirty and ripped, his face and arms bruised and his wrists locked in a pair of handcuffs chained to the wall._

  
_Derek took some careful steps towards him, his features growing colder and colder at the sight of the boy's condition._

_Stiles' eyes were as empty as black glass, his cuffed hands abandoned in between his slightly parted legs as he sat lifeless with his back against the brick wall._

_“You never said my name before...” the boy went on, the shadow of a smile curving his bruised lips._

_His cheeks were pale and wet with tears, his hair greased and messy. He looked like he had been locked in there for weeks._

  
_“Who did this to you?” Derek growled, anger slowly building up inside him._

_He was afraid of the answer though, because he knew the only man who would want to do something like that to Stiles._

Does that mean Kevin Ito had locked both of them in one of his dungeons? 

  
_His eyes focused on Stiles again, taking in his small nose, the pink lips, the long, elegant neck._

_Gosh, how much he had missed him._

_It had been a few days since he had left NY with the thought that he would never see Stiles Stilinski again._

_He was so incredibly relieved now that he had the boy in front of his eyes, even in those conditions._

_It meant he could still save him and maybe make up for what he had done._

_Stiles looked at him with eyes wide in shock. He stayed silent for some moments, then slowly started laughing._

_It was a dark laugh, an hysterical laugh._

_A sick laugh._

_The chains clinked as his whole body was trembling while Stiles laughed uncontrollably. The laugh slowly turned into loud sobs that shook the boy's body violently._

  
_“Who did this to me?_

_Who did this to ME?” He stood up, the chains preventing him from going further than a meter from the bunk._

_Stiles' face was distorted in a mix of rage and pain. He looked Derek straight in the eyes as he shouted,_

_“YOU DID THIS TO ME!”_

_Derek instinctively stepped back, his eyes wide in shock while Stiles broke down in a desperate cry._

_His knees hit the floor with a thud and he brought both hands to his face, digging his nails into his skin as if he was trying to rip it off._

_His screams were louder and louder and Derek noticed with horror that he was crying tears of blood._

_The liquid was rolling down his cheeks, painting his face in red._

  
_“IT WAS YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU TEARED ME APART!” Stiles screamed, his nails leaving bleeding wounds on his cheeks and neck._

_He looked insane._

_“IT WAS YOU, DEREK! YOU YOU YOU!”_

  
_In that moment, Derek wished nothing but death. Dying was probably just a small part of what he deserved for what he had done to Stiles._

_He couldn't bear the sight and he couldn't do anything about it, as the boy's screams were echoing in his mind, breaking his soul into pieces._

_He pressed both hands on his ears, crumbling on his knees under the weight of his guilt._

_“I'm sorry... I'm sorry...”_

Derek sat up with a quick movement that made his head spin but he didn't mind. 

He looked around the dark room, feeling cold trails of sweat rolling down his neck. His sheets were completely soaked and he realized his fists were clenched around them tightly. 

He slowly released the grip as he tried to stabilize his breathing and heartbeat. 

It had been a vivid nightmare. 

  
He fell back onto the pillow and breathed deeply, staring at the white ceiling of his hotel room. He tried to push those horrible images out of his head, trying to remind himself none of it ever happened. 

He had just accomplished a job and he had come back to his room, had a shower and gone to sleep. 

Everything else had been a nightmare, a creation of his own unstable mind. 

  
He surely wasn't going to sleep anymore, so he got up and slipped into his pants. He needed some fresh air, and nicotine. Lots of nicotine. 

  
He grabbed his cigarettes from the bedside table and scratched the bandage around his shoulder as he looked for a shirt. 

It was just a small wound but it annoyed him like hell because he reminded him of that single moment when he had lowered his guard in that building.

It wasn't supposed to happen and most of all not to a professional like him.

  
He slipped a black tee over his muscular chest and took his leather jacket, running a hand through the messy hair before leaving the room. 

He reached the parking lot, almost deserted at that time of the night, though there were some limousines coming and going every now and then. 

The hotel was an expensive one and it was just natural for all kind of important people and business men to come and go at any hour of the day. 

Moscow nights were always somehow lively. 

  
Derek leaned his back against the wall, mindless of the cold air of the night seeping through his light clothes.

He fished a cigarette out of the packet and lit it up, bringing it to his lips by holding it with his thumb and middle finger. He inhaled the dangerous smoke deeply and released it to the starless sky, wishing he could do the same with his thoughts as well. 

Just let them go against the wind and lose sight of them forever. Not even now when he was almost on the other side of the world he felt relaxed. 

Leaving New York had put some distance for his body but not for his mind. He didn't even want to think about his heart because he was trying to suppress anything related to emotions, most of all if directed to a certain boy. 

There was no point in keeping them, because he was not going to meet Stiles ever again and even if that happened, it wasn't going to last. 

He couldn't let himself near the boy anymore. 

He had been stupid and naïve to think he could actually stay by his side with his disturbed mind. He should have foreseen it was going to end like this. 

Derek always destroyed anything he loved. 

  
The first cigarette was followed by another one, and then one more. His mouth tasted like nicotine by now and he coughed, slipping his lighter back in his pockets along with the packet. 

He didn't feel like he had poisoned himself enough but he needed a break. 

  
“Hey,” came a voice a few meters away from him.

Derek glanced to the side and noticed a boy coming his way. 

He had a small face and short blond hair, a plain white t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans on. He clearly was unaffected by the cold weather as much as Derek. 

“Do you speak Russian?” he asked in his mother tongue. 

Derek could understand him of course, but he just wasn't interested in whatever the pretty boy wanted. 

The latter approached until he was just a couple of meters away from Derek. 

“English then? What about English?” he asked again, switching to another language.

He had a cute accent and Derek found himself glancing at him one more time. 

He was tall and thin like a model and had light green eyes. He was really handsome and Derek got a hint of what the boy was trying to do. 

The latter noticed how Derek was looking at him and grinned. 

“I'm Adam,” he offered his hand for a shake.   
“Your name?”

  
Derek glanced at the hand but didn't move an inch. He looked away, still leaning against the wall.

Adam pulled back his hand and ran it through his blond hair.

“If it is just as gorgeous as your face that's enough for me,” he laughed, then became serious again as soon as he noticed that Derek wasn't really interested.

“Listen, I had this... thing settled with this guy but apparently he dumped me and I really can't go back to my pimp with empty hands... I know this is totally awkward and embarrassing but you seem pretty lonely and I give the best blowjobs in the whole Moscow, I can assure you that.”

  
Derek looked back at him, scanning the boy with his eyes. 

It was almost funny how shamelessly he was offering himself to Derek and what's even funnier was that the more he looked at him, the more Derek felt like it could be a good idea to forget about the world for a while.  
He didn't even remember the last time he had had a good fuck. 

He pushed away from the wall and started walking towards the luxurious entrance of the hotel, his hands in his pockets.

Adam stayed still, a disappointed expression on his face. At least until Derek turned around again.

  
“You changed your mind?” the hitman asked, his question not really sounding like a question but more like a mockery.   
He had a small grin on his lips. 

  
Adam's face lit up and he trotted happily behind the older man. 

_...._...._

Kevin was trying to decide if he liked that man or not.

The conference room was crowded, the best men of The Nogitsune gathered in the same place and sitting at the same table. It wasn't something that happened often and the atmosphere was clearly tensed. 

A subordinate was speaking in front of a big screen showing pictures of Derek and Stiles, clearly taken without the subjects' awareness.

He was summing up the information they had about the targets for the whole audience, and everyone seemed pretty focused. 

  
Everyone but one man, who was mindlessly playing with a pen, sitting way too comfortably in the big reclining chair, feet crossed on the table in the most careless pose Kevin had ever seen in one of the organization reunions. 

He clearly wasn't listening to whatever was being discussed in that room, he actually looked quite bored.

  
The subordinate ended his speech and looked to the side to where Kevin was sitting, eyes focused on nothing else but the man in the long black coat.

“President?”

Kevin had one elbow on the table and his hand supporting his head, like a bored kid. He woke up from his thoughts but kept looking at the other man.

“Let's hear what the newcomer has to say,” he decided.

The man immediately knew they were talking about him and made a scene of standing up against his will, sighing deeply. 

He looked around the room with his sharp eyes, looking unimpressed by the number of powerful men gathered in there. 

“If you think you'll be able to take down someone like Derek with a couple of pictures and a – clearly lacking – file, then I'm sorry to break it to you but he's going to kick your asses before you even realize he's behind you.” 

His amused voice echoed through the wide room, complete silence falling on the whole group soon after his words. 

The newcomer scanned every cold face around him before going on, 

“The only way we can defeat him is through his weak point – which is, as I hope everyone knows by now, this kid named Stiles Stilinski.” 

A man sitting on the far corner of the long table spoke up,

“What we know is that Stiles Stilinski hired the hitman named Derek to kill our President. This means he is one of his clients and nothing else. What makes you think Stiles Stilinski could be his weak point?” 

The brown-haired man sighed.

“I guess I'm surrounded by idiots. What is the reason why you hired me, exactly? Wasn't it because I know Derek better than all of you put together?” 

He had an annoyed, mocking smile on his lips. 

“Hell yes, I do know Derek better than all of you and I can assure you he's not as cold and professional as he seems.   
The only weak point he has are exactly his stupid feelings. To be more specific, the feelings he has for that kid.  
We can use that against him,” he looked around, finding only confusion and doubt on the faces surrounding him. 

Then he locked his eyes with Kevin, a smirk on his lips.

"The boy is very beautiful indeed. Anyone would fall for him... don't you think so?...President?*"

Kevin pinned the man with a death glare.  


The man laughed and rolled his eyes, “And here I thought I was in front of the best criminal organization of America.” 

  
A low buzzing started raising from the table, of course none of the men sat there was happy with the way that stranger was making fun of them. 

Kevin was still studying his new purchase with penetrating eyes. 

The man was shameless and fearless, or maybe simply stupid. 

The man met the boss' eyes again and their eye-contact lasted for a while, both of them studying each other in silence and completely ignoring the chaos surrounding them.

“Who the hell are you? How dare you talk to the boss like that!” a man from the right side shouted all of a sudden. 

The newcomer took his eyes off the boss and turned around to smile a lovely smile that was actually quite disturbing.

  
“I'm Derek's nemesis, of course.” 

  
_...._...._

Adam was pretty sure he had a big black bruise on his left hip by then but he couldn't really care less. 

He slept with at least a couple of men per day but it was rare to find such a good fuck. 

He opened his eyes and managed to focus on his lover for the night's face for a moment before arching his back again and tearing some pieces of the sheets apart with a long moan. 

  
He had to admit he could stare at the vision in front of him for the whole life.

Derek slammed a hand against the headboard of the bed, grabbing the border to get stability while the other hand never left the boy's hip, keeping him in place as he mercilessly rammed inside him. 

Adam let his eyes linger on his wide shoulders and his toned chest, trying to decipher at least some of the tattoos that covered the man's arm. 

Not that he could really use his brain rationally in a situation like that – he realized he probably already had a couple of orgasms, he wasn't really sure because he couldn't tell for how long they had been fucking.

  
He moaned again and again, tracing Derek's chest with his nails as the man imposed over him with his body, making him feel extremely dominated. 

He loved it, and spread his legs wider, though their bodies were already colliding just fine and he could feel the whole of Derek's length inside him, the tip of his cock hitting all the right spots. 

The man really knew what he was doing, which was something Adam couldn't find often in his clients. Most of them were really beginners at anal sex, it was almost embarrassing to compare them with the god he currently had in between his legs. 

  
He realized he was maybe fantasizing about him a bit too much and blushed, looking for Derek's eyes but not finding them. 

The man had been avoiding his stare the whole time and now he had thrown his head back, letting out some low, raspy growls while he fucked the boy's hole harder.

Kisses seemed to be forbidden as well, as Adam had tried more than once to reach for the man's tempting lips but all his attempts had been vain.

Adam's hands tried to grab at anything, his moans getting so loud that he was actually happy that hotel had soundproofed rooms.  
He could probably wake up the whole floor if Derek kept fucking him like that. 

“Derek...” he exhaled, his whole body trembling in pleasure. 

He had only managed to get the man's name out of him after a good blowjob and now he was totally going to enjoy using it.

Derek roughly grabbed his jaw with one hand and slipped two of his fingers into the boy's mouth. He started sucking on them right away, though his job was often interrupted by his long moans.

Derek looked totally focused on getting the most pleasure from the way he was ramming the boy, his eyes were closed and his eyebrows almost knitted together in an expression that Adam thought one could only find in a list of 'things that can make people climax right away'. 

  
He felt almost guilty for having to make him pay since that was probably one of the best fucks of his life and he would have totally gone with Derek for free if he only got a choice.

Derek licked his lower lip and looked down at the boy's thin body and white perfect skin, now covered in his red marks. 

If he focused enough, he could almost imagine there was someone else under him. 

  
He growled again and grabbed the boy by his hips, roughly turning him around like he was made of air. 

Before Adam could realize what was happening, he was laying on his belly and Derek had already slipped his thick cock inside his abused hole again, proceeding to give him the last few thrusts and keeping both hands on his hips as he slammed himself inside him repeatedly.

The boy had his cheek pressed against the soft fabric of the pillow which was suffocating half of his moans, while his hands still grabbed at the sheets so hard his knuckles had turned completely white. 

He arched his back to push his ass against Derek's thrusts, the smacking sound of their bodies clashing together was almost too arousing to handle and he could now feel Derek's heavy breathing into his hair as he quickly pushed inside him for another couple of times before finally releasing himself inside the boy. 

  
The mattress stopped shaking and the headboard stopped smashing against the wall, while Derek pulled out of Adam right away and got up, leaving him breathless against the ripped sheets.

The boy literally didn't manage to feel his legs for a couple of minutes, his hole was burning like hell but he was indeed very satisfied. 

He slipped one hand under his own body to take care of his own throbbing erection just to find out he had come without realizing.

He laughed a breathless laugh and slowly sat up against the headboard. 

Derek went to the bathroom and threw the used condom in the toilet, letting the drain flush it away. 

He then went back to the main room and looked for his boxers, slipping them on before going back to lay on the bed with an arm under his head.   
He closed his eyes. 

Adam smiled, amused, took a cigarette from the packet on the bedside table and lit it up, mindless of the hotel rules. 

He took a first puff and then passed it to the man laying beside him. Derek looked at it and took it with his thumb and middle finger, inhaling the smoke.

  
The younger man got up and went opening the big window before turning around to face Derek again. 

“You have sex like you're going to war. What are you fighting?” He laughed. 

Derek closed his eyes again and kept inhaling the smoke in slow puffs, his sweaty body relaxing after that marathon. 

After a long minute Adam knew he wasn't going to answer, but he liked that mysterious side of the man nonetheless. 

He wandered around the room to gather his clothes, Derek's eyes following him without much interest. If anything, sex had managed to clear his mind and now he felt completely in control of himself again.

He didn't know how long that feeling was going to last but he was going to treasure that lack of thoughts for as long as it lasted.

  
“By the way, who's Stiles?” 

Adam curiously asked out of the blue, holding the pile of his clothes in his arms.

Derek looked at him again, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. 

Adam smiled at that, the man looked so lost and it was the first time that night he was actually showing some kind of emotions. 

“You called me Stiles, or something like that, is he your special one?” He grinned widely. 

  
He was used to men cheating on their lovers though they would always claim to love them more than anything. 

Derek's eyes got lost somewhere undefined for a while, and Adam wondered what was wrong. Then, the man took another puff from the cigarette and looked out of the window without saying a single word. 

Adam sighed, “Guess it's not a topic you like, nevermind. I'll be gone after a shower!” 

He quickly trotted to the bathroom and locked himself in. 

  
Derek breathed deeply and closed his eyes, let himself relax for a short while. He put out the cigarette and was only after hearing the sound of the shower that he reached for the phone on his bedside table. 

He checked the missed calls again and pressed the green button. Less than three rings later a familiar voice answered from the other side of the line. 

_“I'm going to kill you”_

  
Derek sighed and ran a hand over his face. 

“Jax” 

_“Asshole,_ ” was Jackson's reply. 

  
_“Where are you? What the fuck are you doing? Are you aware of the mess you made?”_

  
“I'm not coming back,” Derek immediately stated, ignoring all the other questions. 

“Just called to tell you this. You can stop calling now.” 

There was silence from the other side but Derek could tell Jackson was holding his breath. 

  
_“...What does this mean? Are you going to leave Stiles in the shit like that after what you've done to him?”_

“No,” Derek immediately replied. 

“I was paid for a job and I'm going to accomplish it. I'm going to–”

  
_“You're going to play the anonymous hero role now? Taking down the whole fucking Nogitsune by yourself and then disappear again? Stiles needs you here, you know this.”_

  
Derek swallowed some kind of lump blocked in his throat.

“He needs me as far away as possible from him. This is the only way I–” he trailed off, closing his eyes and preventing more forbidding words from rolling off his tongue.

Jackson seemed to understand what kind of war was going on in his mind. His voice was calmer when he spoke again. 

  
_“This is not the only way you can protect him and you know it. It will take some time, but when Stiles recovers he will need you by his side–”_

“I am a monster,” Derek cut him off, making silence fall on both sides of the line. 

He had never said it out loud. All those years with that thought in his mind but he had never once admitted it to anyone else but his own self. 

He kept his eyes closed and listened to the rhythm of his own breathing to keep his emotions under control.

It was done, he had finally let it out.

  
“I can't stay by his side or by anyone's else's,” he went on, his voice way lower than before. 

“You knew it from the start. You know this is for the best,” he breathed in. 

“I'm never going to see him again.” 

  
_“Never again? Are you serious, now? Derek? Derek don't you dare hanging up–...”_

  
Derek turned off his phone and laid his head back against the pillow, putting an arm over his eyes.

They were burning, but he ignored the feeling. 

It was for the best, he told himself. 

  
It was for Stiles. 

_...._...._

“Derek?” 

Jackson pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. 

Connection was lost. 

“Shit,” he cursed through gritted teeth and looked up from the screen. 

Stiles was standing in the doorway of Derek's room, looking at Jackson with his swollen eyes. 

He was as expressionless as he had been for the past few days but Jackson wondered how long he had been there , how much he had managed to catch of their conversation. 

  
He immediately got alarmed. 

He thought Stiles was sleeping and he was absolutely not supposed to hear that conversation.

“Stiles, I–” 

  
The boy turned around and walked back into the room without listening to Jackson's explanations.

The latter heard some metallic sounds coming from there and he quickly rushed behind the kid.

The scene that appeared in front of his eyes made him froze on the spot. 

  
Stiles was standing in the middle of Derek's room in his jeans and t-shirt, with one of Derek's guns in his hands. 

His soft hair was half-covering his face as he looked down at the shiny weapon clutched in his palm. 

Jackson swallowed hard. 

He thought he had put away all Derek's weapons but apparently Stiles knew something he didn't. 

He tried to approach him slowly. 

“Stiles... put it down...” he spoke slowly and calmly. 

"Where did you get it?.... come on, Stiles...whatever you're planning to do.... d- don't..."

Stiles didn't move an inch. Face still as ice.

  
“This is not a solution, you know? I know it may seem like you have no reason to live but it's not like that... You can go through this...” 

He mentally cursed himself. He was a hitman, he killed people, he didn't know how to save them. 

He felt like he was talking useless crap. 

Stiles weighed the gun in his hands, slowly. Carefully. He stayed still for a while, then looked up. 

He offered the weapon to Jackson, who immediately took it away from him and put the safety on.

The boy observed his movements and waited until Jackson met his eyes again. 

Stiles was deadly serious and Jackson had the feeling he hadn't just tried to kill himself as he had thought at first. 

There was something else behind the boy's actions. 

Jackson had never seen him like that – he looked fierce and confident. His suspects were confirmed a moment later. 

Stiles pointed at the gun in Jackson's hands without keeping his eyes off the hitman.

“Teach me how to become stronger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! 
> 
> All those foreign languages I used are from Google translate. Don't know if those are correct or wrong...  
> Meh, who cares🙊🙉🙈


	16. Chapter 16

Stiles woke up to an inviting smell coming from the kitchen. He rolled around in tangled bed sheets until he found himself facing the rays of light coming from the window. 

  
He groaned a bit and pushed his face further into the pillow to avoid the annoying light. 

He stayed like that for a while, feeling like something wasn't quite right. After some more moments, he realized he was inhaling the scent of his own shampoo that was everywhere on the pillow and sheets.

He slowly opened his eyelids, realization hitting him and instilling a spark of sadness in his eyes. 

He slowly sat up against the headboard and looked around what was still officially Derek's room. 

But there was no trace of him anymore, except some personal stuff in the bathroom, from which Stiles kept as far away as possible, to avoid more suffering. 

Jackson had swept away everything that belonged to Derek and hid it hell-knew-where.

He brought his knees to his chest and the sheets along with them. He grabbed a fistful of them and brought it to his face, inhaling the aroma of vanilla.

It was his shower gel.

There was no trace of Derek's scent anymore. Not on the bed, not in the whole room. 

Stiles was already starting to forget the scent of the hitman's skin. He wondered what was next-

his voice? 

His face? 

The taste of his lips? 

The way he would subtly complain about Stiles' preference for tea over coffee but would still make sure there was always at least one pack of tea bags in the kitchen cupboard? 

Was he going to forget it all? 

_Was it going to be like Derek never existed in his life?_

  
He got up, ruffled his own hair and fixed his sweatpants before opening the door to the main room. 

An unfamiliar scent filled the air and Stiles furrowed his eyebrows as he noticed Jackson fumbling in front of the burners.

“Morning...” he mumbled, scratching his nape and sitting at the kitchen table, his bare feet crossing under the chair. 

He still wasn't quite used to living together with Jackson. 

The man had more or less settled in the living room: just a few days before some men had knocked on the door claiming to be Boyd's errand boys and that they had furniture to deliver.

  
Jackson had been about to open the door just to shoot them in the head when Stiles had remembered about his shopping day with Derek. 

Maybe he had asked Boyd for help since he couldn't give their address directly to the shop delivery service – the more people knew where they lived, the more dangerous it could get for them to stay there. 

He had told Jackson the story and Jackson had called Boyd to make sure it wasn't some trap.

Then he had let the men in – and now they had a new bed, a TV and some other stuff. 

Jackson, who had been sleeping on the couch up until that moment, had gladly moved to the bed they set in the corner where Stiles' futon once was. 

The small TV on the kitchen counter was on, some drama rerun was airing but Stiles didn't really pay attention to that, which was weird if one considered he hadn't been watching television for months now. 

But he just focused on the back of the man in front of him. 

“Ready,” Jackson said, turning around and dropping some huge oddly-shaped pancakes on Stiles' plate from his pan. 

They were slightly burned but smelled really good. Stiles looked down at his plate with questioning eyes.

“um...what?”

“I went out a bought the ingredients.” Jackson replied with a perfect smile on his face. 

“I thought you were tired of rice and noodles. So I made pancakes,” he pointed at the plate with a wooden spoon. 

“I just love fatty food,” he added with a smirk.

Stiles looked at him with a raised eyebrow and then back at the pancakes. 

He had his hands on his lap and didn't look like he had any appetite. 

Jackson made a plate for himself and sat down in front of him, placing a bottle of chocolate sauce in between them.

“Come on, You need to eat. Let me.,” the hitman said, opening the bottle and squeezing a good amount of chocolate on his pancakes. 

“See? As much chocolate as you want... no judgement here. Or , if you don't like chocolate, I think I got syrup somewhere here too....” 

"It's fine... I like it."

Jackson nodded and cut both his and Stiles' pancakes in small little pieces, then pushed the plate towards Stiles.

Stiles watched the man filling his mouth with a big slice of pancake and chewing on it with satisfaction.

“So you can cook,” Stiles commented, poking his pancakes with the fork so as to inspect them.

"Yep, I know how to cook a lot of dishes, mind you. American and non-American."

“You've been outside America many times?”

“More than I can count,” Jackson replied, his eyes at the ceiling like he was actually trying to remember how many times he had been abroad. 

His blond hair was a total mess on his head like he had just woken up. His white tank had some yellow stains, probably from the pancake cooking. It stuck to his toned chest like a second skin.

  
“Jobs?” Stiles pushed, squeezing some more chocolate on his breakfast. He tasted the pancakes and was surprised to find them extremely delicious despite their looks. 

The bewilderment on his face had to be pretty readable because Jackson was smiling at him. He nodded at Stiles' question. 

“Was there some stereotype about hitmen and cooking?” He then asked, amused. 

Stiles thought about Derek and his passion for instant noodles. He had assumed the hitman couldn't even cook a single fried egg. 

He thought it probably was because his job kept him really busy most of the time and he didn't really have time nor the will to learn how to cook. It wasn't something crucial for his job.

  
His expression must have grown darker at the thought of the man, because Jackson's smile disappeared and they kept eating in silence for a while. 

They had been sharing more silences than words in the last few days, but none of them seemed to be uncomfortable with that. 

Stiles knew Jackson acted way more friendly than he actually was in an attempt to cheer him up: his true self was probably as cold and used to silence as Derek.

Stiles, on the other hand, was usually the talkative type but he just needed time for himself and he didn't really feel like socializing. 

“It's been a week,” the thought hit him as he finished his last pancake. 

He looked for Jackson's eyes and stared straight into them. 

“I still don't have your answer.” 

  
Jackson swallowed his last bite and licked the chocolate off the knife without removing his eyes from Stiles. 

When he was done eating, he got up and put both his plate and Stiles' in the sink.

“So you still want to do it?” 

“Yes,” came Stiles' immediate reply. 

He had never been more sure of something in his whole life. 

Jackson turned around, leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. 

“You want me to train you?” 

  
“If you want-... can-...” Stiles bit his lower lip, “if you'd like.” 

“No,” Jackson shook his head.   
“I don't like this situation a single bit and the last thing I want is to put a gun in your hand.”

Stiles clenched his fists under the table.  
“Why? Do I look so weak to you?” 

He wasn't looking at Jackson, his eyes burning holes on the wooden surface. 

Jackson puffed a laugh. “You're really convinced everyone sees you as a weakling? Well, I don't think you're weak at all.” 

Stiles' head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise. 

“Then... why won't you train me?” 

Jackson sighed, 

“I didn't say I won't. I said I won't like to do it,” he looked in Stiles' eyes, serious as ever.   
“I feel like I'm dragging you into something way too dangerous. This is not a game, Stiles.”

  
“It is,” Stiles replied, dull.   
“It's a filthy game in which everyone knows the rules except me. I'm tired of feeling left out and useless.” 

  
“If you're thinking of doing something stupid like looking for Kevin Ito, Derek is already on his tracks and he's going to take care of him like he prom–”

  
“Derek is not here anymore,” Stiles raised his voice, his hands clenched tight around his sweatpants. 

“I need to defend myself.” 

Jackson regretted saying that name but was surprised at Stiles' reaction. He thought only naming the hitman would cause Stiles some mental breakdown like Scott had said, but it seemed like Stiles was recovering way faster than they both thought. 

_Or maybe he was just good at pretending_. 

Anyway, he could tell he was better than the week before. His nightmares were still there every night, but now he talked to him, at least.

  
Something in Stiles' words was upsetting him, though.

He looked away, out of the window, before speaking, 

“I can protect you.”   
It was barely more than a whisper. 

Stiles' face softened,   
“I know, but I'm honestly tired of depending entirely on other people,”   
he shrugged. “I won't be as good as you, but at least I won't be completely defenseless,” 

He got up and snatched a cigarette and the lighter from the packet Jackson had left on the counter. He lit it up and opened the window, letting the cold air in, then he leaned with his shoulder against the wall and inhaled a first puff of smoke.

“I'm honestly tired of being myself,” he admitted in a whisper.

_There's nothing wrong with being yourself_ ,

Jackson thought but he just shook his head. 

“Fine, we'll begin the training then,” he surrendered. 

He turned off the TV and snatched the cigarette from Stiles' hand, 

“I'm going to take a shower.” 

Stiles waited for Jackson to add one of his usual flirty jokes like come join me or something, but the man just disappeared in Derek's bathroom without a word. 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and wondered if the thought of training him was really making Jackson that upset. 

He heard the sound of running water from the other room and sighed. 

He glanced out at the morning sky and closed the window soon after, shivering a little. 

  
Right then, someone knocked on the door.

Stiles froze on the spot, staring at the old door that really looked like it could be taken down with just a couple of powerful kicks. It was just one of those old wooden doors from the 70s, nothing thick. 

“W-who's there?” He called out, taking a few careful steps towards the entrance. 

“Express delivery for Stiles!” came a voice from outside.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. The voice sounded familiar, which could be a very good thing or a very bad one.

Stiles pressed his ear against the wooden surface. 

“Who are you?” He asked again, suspiciously.

  
“Come on boy, it's uncle Boyd!” 

Stiles was taken aback. 

_Boyd was there? He didn't look like someone who made home delivery for his clients, and anyway what could he possibly have for Stiles?_

Then he remembered the man's words and his expression turned into a pissed one. 

' _Uncle Boyd'? Does that man think of Stiles like a child or something?_

  
He sighed and opened the door, hearing a clicking sound soon after. 

He looked up and noticed the shiny barrel of a gun pointed at Boyd's forehead. 

Stiles gasped and turned around, finding Jackson standing behind him with a deadly expression on his face.

He had never seen Jackson looking more heartless. 

His eyes slipped down and he noticed the man only wore a towel around his groin, his hair still wet from the shower along with his skin which was covered in small drops of water. 

His bare arm was stretched over Stiles' shoulder and he firmly held the gun pointed at Boyd's face.

Stiles was shocked at how silent Jackson had been. He had probably heard his brief conversation with Boyd and thought it could be someone dangerous so he had come out of the shower quickly taking his gun before coming to the door. 

All of that without making a single sound. Stiles hadn't heard anything. 

Boyd raised his hands in front of him and took a step back. 

“Are you all always this nervous? Jeez...” he was clearly scared of the weapon pointed at his head but he tried to play it cool.

  
Jackson lowered his arm and cracked a smirk. 

“Sorry 'B', you know how it works,” he stepped back and invited the man in.

Boyd stepped into the room and looked around, his expression clearly saying he was used to a totally different kind of place. 

“I know... and stop calling me 'B', it makes me sound like a member of a kids' gang.” 

Jackson laughed and disappeared into Derek's room, probably to put some clothes on. 

  
Boyd plopped down on the couch like he owned the place and looked around a bit more, 

“This place is...” 

he tried to find the less offensive word that could express his thoughts but failed. 

He coughed twice, 

“...nice?” 

Stiles laughed, knowing exactly what was on the man's mind. 

“Thank you. Want some coffee?” he said moving to the kitchen island.

“No, thanks,” he looked so uncomfortable sitting there in the middle of the living room. 

He wore dark jeans and a large blue hoodie with some yellow drawings on it. He also wore a snapback that made him slightly less recognizable. 

“I'm actually in a rush, but since Derek personally asked for this, I couldn't refuse.” 

A loud crash echoed through the room. 

Boyd almost jumped from his position on the couch and turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. 

Jackson was on the bedroom door frame as well, fully dressed, a worried expression on his face. 

They both looked at Stiles, who was returning their gaze and looked as shocked as Boyd.

He looked down and realized the mug that was in his hands just a moment before now laid in pieces on the floor. He looked at it like he didn't know how it had happened, though a small voice in his mind was telling him it was his fault.

Jackson made some careful steps towards him, his expression even more concerned now. 

“Stiles...”

“S-sorry,” the boy quickly knelt down and started collecting the broken pieces of the item.

“It slipped, I'm- I'm...” 

Jackson knelt down in front of him and took Stiles' hands in his own, stopping him before he could hurt himself.

“It's okay, we'll clean later. Get up now,” he spoke in a gentle tone. 

Stiles nodded, his eyes still lost somewhere. 

He stood up again, staring at Boyd who's looking more confused by the second. 

“Derek contacted you?” Jackson asked with no emotion whatsoever in his voice. 

Boyd had his eyes glued to Stiles and barely caught Jackson's question. 

_Something was clearly wrong with that boy._

“Yes...” he replied absentmindedly, before focusing his attention on Jackson again. 

“He asked me to deliver some stuff he ordered–”

“Is he in America?!” Stiles cried all of a sudden, his face distorted from both pain and worry. 

He looked like he was about to cry. 

Boyd was taken aback.

“...He told me he's on one of his usual missions...? I thought you knew. He's abroad,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

  
Jackson snorted, a sarcastic smile on his lips. 

_Of course Derek hadn't told Boyd about the situation._

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with a deep sigh. 

Stiles' face fell. He looked down at his slippers and swallowed the knot in his throat. 

He wanted to punch himself for worrying about that man even after what he had done to him. 

_It was so unfair._

_How can he just run away like this?_

_How can he leave me like this after what he's done?,_

he clenched his fists, biting his lower lip. 

Maybe he was just angry because Derek hadn't even apologized. He had just disappeared, taking the easiest route. 

When Jackson had received his call the week before, Stiles had decided not to believe Derek's words.

He couldn't be such a coward, he was going to come back and at least say sorry to him. 

But after that long week, Stiles started to think Derek was really never going to come back.

_Do I even want him back...?_ , he wondered. 

He hugged his waist in an attempt to protect himself from the painful memories of the night Derek attacked him. 

The night Stiles had gone back to zero. 

Reset . 

Back to the start. 

All his securities crumbling down under the violent touch of those hands.

_I can't possibly want him back_ , he reasoned. 

But he wasn't convinced of his own thoughts, and maybe that was what hurt the most. 

Stiles was good at giving his heart away but he had never been able to get it back. 

Even after all that Kevin had done to him, even after deciding to hire a hitman to kill him off, Stiles knew there was a small part of him that still had the same feelings for the man who had been – and officially still was – his husband. 

  
He woke up from his thoughts at the sight of five small bottles on the table in front of him. He shook his head to regain complete consciousness and focused on Boyd who was putting a sixth bottle beside the others. 

Stiles realized they looked like the bottle of his pills. He looked up at the dealer with wide eyes.

Boyd shrugged. “Derek told me to provide this stuff. He's been tight-lipped as always but I guess it's for you,” his stare pierced right through Stiles. 

“I only passed by to deliver this.” 

  
“Ho-how could you...” Stiles was totally confused. “You need prescriptions for these, I'm–”

“Hey,” Boyd cut him off, raising an eyebrow. 

He stared at him for a while and then sighed, removing his snapback to run a hand through his hair before putting it back. 

“Who do you think I am?” 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and shut up. It was Jackson's turn to raise an eyebrow. 

“Watch your words, Boyd.” 

Boyd rolled his eyes. 

“Listen, I don't have time for this, I did–”

“Why didn't you just send the medicines with the other stuff your errand boys brought in the other day?” Jackson asked, not really caring about the other man's annoyed attitude. 

If Boyd was trying to scare him or make him uncomfortable, he should have known better that those kind of tricks didn't work with Jackson. 

It would only make him upset, and Boyd knew an upset Jackson was a dangerous Jackson. 

  
“I usually deal with this kind of stuff personally,” Boyd replied, playing with one of the little bottles. 

He then shrugged, “Derek couldn't pass by, so he asked me to do the delivery directly to his current address and since it's Derek we're talking about, I did.” 

Stiles had completely isolated himself by then. He took one of the bottles and observed it carefully, though he wasn't really looking at it. The voices around him were just background noise now.

He didn't hear Boyd giving his goodbyes, nor Jackson closing the door behind him once he was gone. 

He walked to the kitchen window and looked out, raising the bottle above his head and looking at the sunlight hitting the white plastic surface.

  
_“What are you going to do when there's no more pills?”_

_Stiles' head shot up, panic in his eyes. He hadn't thought about that yet. He didn't have any more prescriptions but he needed the medicine. It was the only thing helping him during his attacks._

_He slowly lowered his head, fidgeting with the border of his shirt._

_“I... I don't know...”_

_There was a moment of silence in which Stiles almost burned a hole in the floor with his stare._

_“Just as I thought.”_

_Derek briefly drummed his fingers on the table before getting up and disappearing into his room._

  
At the time, he had thought Derek didn't care about his situation but now, he knew Derek had been thinking about it all along and had made sure Stiles would be provided with all the medicines he needed.

With that amount of bottles he could go on for months, maybe even years if he didn't get attacks that often.

_Did that mean Derek wasn't planning on coming back for years?_

_Wasn't it just like saying he was never going to come back?_

_Then... what he had said during that call was actually true?_

  
Stiles lowered his arm and left the bottle on the windowsill, without removing his eyes from the clear sky. 

Derek was somewhere out there in the world, and Stiles didn't know what to do with his heart. He just wanted to rip it out of his chest and throw it away. 

One problem less. 

* _“Do you still think you never cross my mind?_ ” *

Stiles pressed his forehead against the cold glass and sighed. 

“I guess I do,” he whispered, looking down at the bottle of pills. 

  
“I guess I really do.”

  
_...._...._

The waitress smiled while leaving a black coffee and a small plate on the round table. It was a formal smile and it barely reached her green eyes. 

She was pretty, had long blonde hair tied in a bun, but her attitude was rather cold.

Derek didn't really care. He shifted his gaze from the laptop screen to the small plate, wondering what the hell were those things on it. 

He had ordered the Frühstück menu of the day, but of course Germans had their own concept of breakfast which always managed to surprise him.

“Die Rechnung, bitte” (The bill, please) he said, his eyes still glued to the laptop screen. 

He had been polite, but the woman was clearly not amused by the flat tone in his voice. She walked away, glancing one last time at the foreigner with her cold eyes.

Derek was used to that too: most people there were usually cold at the beginning, they would eventually open up after a while but Derek had, of course, no intention of making friends. 

The only reason he was in Berlin - the only reason he'd go anywhere, really – was always a job. 

He had been in the capital many times already and he had a couple of favorite places. The restaurant he was sitting outside now was just a few hundred meters away from the majestic Brandenburg Gate. 

He could see it from there, as he sat at his table under the lime trees that gave name to the street Unter den Linden - because apparently everyone seemed to find those trees so poetic and romantic or some other nonsense. 

  
Derek's mind didn't work like that. He liked that place because everything, from the wicker chairs to the sign, was painted in an inviting shade of red, which was – it went without saying – one of his favorite colors.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the cold air of the morning, and typed in a new message for his latest employer. 

He had been locked up in his hotel room for the last couple of days, doing research about The Nogitsune and outlining a new plan, but he needed real action now. 

He could already feel his blood boiling in anticipation.

He took a sip from his black coffee and noticed his phone screen lighting up. 

He glanced at it from behind his cup – it was a message. 

  
_From: B_

_I delivered your stuff this morning._

_You owe me a favor._

_I'll add it to the already long list._   
  
_\- Your Best Resource_

  
Derek turned off the screen with a sigh and decided it was time to find out how that mysterious breakfast tasted like. 

Of course Boyd's message had stirred some thoughts and questions in his brain, but he was trying to keep Stiles out of his mind as much as possible so he didn't linger on them. 

  
He was getting good at it – or at least that was what he had been telling himself. 

Another vibration caught his attention after some minutes. He swallowed a bite of what tasted like ham and looked at the phone again. 

Another text message, different sender. 

  
_From: J_

_S is doing fine, if you're wondering._

_B delivered the medicines today._

_You're still an asshole._   
  
_\- J_

  
Derek wondered why they were all texting him now, before remembering it was already noon in America and Boyd probably had just woke up form his beauty sleep. 

Jackson on the other hand wasn't really the texting type of person, so it was already surprising he had sent one.

He tried to picture what Jackson had been doing with Stiles all day - or for the past week even.

The hitman saying that Stiles was doing fine was relieving to hear, and yet he couldn't help but wonder if it was the truth or just a lie.

Jackson wouldn't lie about something like that, though. His purpose was clearly to make Derek feel bad and force him to go back sooner or later, so he wouldn't lie about Stiles doing fine.

  
His fingers were still on the screen, his eyes glued on those few words. 

He was right - Stiles could still recover and live a normal life as long as he stayed away from him. 

That message proved it. 

  
The waitress was back right then and left a piece of paper on the table. Derek read the amount and gave her a couple of banknotes.

“Bitte kommen Sie wieder!” ( Come back again!)

She smiled and walked away, clearly satisfied with the tip. 

Derek closed the laptop and finished his coffee with one last, long sip, his eyes focused somewhere undefined in front of him. 

His black leather jacket was maybe too light for the cold weather, but the dark gray turtle-neck sweater under it was more than enough. 

He had resisted the urge to call Stiles for days now. Some nights were tougher than others, and he would find himself laying on an anonymous bed with the phone in his hands and the number already dialed on the screen.

But then he would always ask himself what could he possibly say that would make things better and what was the real reason he wanted to call the boy in the first place.

Was it to apologize or just to allow his own self to feel better? 

It was probably a mix of the two things, and every time Derek would put the phone down, remembering the scared look on Stiles' face the night he had ruined everything. 

No word could ever change or erase that.

And no place could soothe his pain either. 

  
He was jumping here and there on the map, traveling across Europe and accomplishing all the jobs he had somehow left hanging just to stay by Stiles' side. 

He still found the same pleasure in doing what he did best, but now he had something else pending and it was in America. 

He knew his time was running short and he would have to go back soon. He needed to start working on the big fish.

He got up and put the laptop back in his shoulder bag, taking the receipt and crushing it in his fist, before slipping both his hands in his pockets along with his phone. 

He gave one last look at the restaurant and walked away.

  
It was time to get back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So everyone has to write apology e-mail when they miss online class or its just my school? 😱😣


	17. Chapter 17

Boyd plopped down on his wide sofa and turned on the big TV screen a few meters away from him. 

Actually, calling it a TV screen was an understatement since it covered half of the wall. 

It was almost like having a movie theater at home. 

He had the bowl of his favorite snacks on the low glass table in front of him and he was ready to enjoy a movie in his pajamas, finally. 

He loved those rare moments when he could actually relax and empty his mind. Though most of his work could be handled at home, it was still stressful and it always took away his free time. 

When he wasn't dealing with wholesalers and smugglers he was calling the clients, and when he wasn't calling the clients he was probably receiving them at home or concluding some deals. 

Boyd had stopped visiting clients when he had become known enough to draw people to him even without having to go around looking for new buyers.

It was one of those golden times when he could actually enjoy the profits of his job, but he still wasn't off from work. 

To be honest, he was always at work. His job was basically his life, so of course he kept at least a couple of mobile phones beside him. 

One for clients and one for more 'personal' stuff – he couldn't say 'friends' because even if one of the pros of his job was knowing lot of people, one of the cons was that most of those people were only interested in him for what he could provide them. 

So even when they acted like good friends, they were actually just hungry wolves. 

  
He smiled to himself, picking a snack from the bowl and unwrapping it while thinking that now he maybe had an exception in his life for the first time.

He had met Jacob in a private club during a meeting with some well-known political figures.

Boyd didn't dislike clubs but he didn't particularly like them either. He didn't like the atmosphere but he liked the boys – a lot. 

Jacob was one of the dancers that night. Boyd couldn't get his eyes off of his legs for the whole evening and had eventually asked him if he wanted to come home with him. 

He didn't know if it had been for his witty manners or for his expensive car, but the boy had accepted. 

Boyd had initially thought it was going to be a one-night stand like many others he had in his life: boys either disappeared the next morning or he had to kick them out anyway. 

He knew that when they wanted to stay, it was only because of his money and he disliked that. Just sex was enough for him, he didn't really aspire to something more. 

But he had woken up that lucky morning to an inviting smell coming from one of the other rooms.  
Jacob had made breakfast for the both of them and was singing in the kitchen. 

He had a very nice voice, Boyd noticed for the first time. 

At first, the will to kick him out was still strong in his mind, but he wasn't an ill-mannered man. He sat down and had breakfast with him. 

They started talking, Boyd didn't even remember about what but he remembered Jacob's laugh and all the funny faces he had made. 

And then those words that hit right through his heart. 

_“You have a very big house but you seem pretty lonely”_

  
Boyd still smiled at that memory of how Jacob had made all his defenses fall down right from the first moment. 

It had been almost two months since that day and they had been keeping in touch almost daily. 

They couldn't meet up often but they would text and call each other every now and then. It was a new feeling for Boyd. 

_Could that be happiness?_

  
He looked down at his phone and pressed the Home button to check if there were any new messages. 

Jacob was pretty busy at the club lately and it had been a couple of days since he had last heard from him. 

He was starting to miss him and he felt uncomfortable – he wasn't used to the feeling. 

He usually felt the best when he was alone, but things were slowly changing. 

  
He finally focused on the screen and took a bite of his snack, hearing the ringing sound of the elevator outside his door. 

Weird – he owned the whole floor. 

_Maybe someone with the wrong address?_

He lowered the volume of the television and heard an uncountable number of steps down the corridor, thing that made him furrow his eyebrows in confusion. 

Boyd had very good memory and he was sure he wasn't expecting any visit. ...Unless it was that pimp he had received around twenty minutes before. 

He indeed looked like someone with a small brain, maybe he had forgotten something? 

Boyd hated clumsy buyers. 

  
Someone knocked on his door a moment later. Just two knocks, powerful and clear. It was clearly someone with a lot of confidence in themselves. 

Boyd got up and rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure it was that pimp again, he looked like the worst type of client: the kind who would drop by his place without a warning. 

  
He thought people knew by now he didn't like that kind of surprises. Only new buyers would do that, and as much as Boyd liked to have new clients, he couldn't help but feel a bit pissed. 

  
He quickly slipped in a pair of jeans and a black hoodie, ruffling his messy hair while he walked to the door. 

He opened it with an annoyed face, he just couldn't help it – whoever it was, they had interrupted one of his golden moments. 

  
“I thought we had closed our transaction, is there something you forgot to–” 

Two men in black suits pushed him back and stepped into the penthouse, forcing Boyd to step back until he was meters away from the door. 

They kept their hands on his shoulders, so as to keep him in place, while the man tried to shove them away. 

“What the–” 

He looked, shocked, as more and more men entered his place one by one, all wearing the same black suits and sunglasses. 

There were at least ten men in front of him now. They reminded him of toy soldiers. 

The last two men to enter were way taller and bulkier than the others, and they didn't wear sunglasses. Their faces seemed sculpted in stone. They stopped in the middle of the room, a couple of meters left between them as if they were waiting for someone else. 

  
“Who the hell are you?” Boyd spit, trying to break free from the guards' hold but they only held him tighter in place. 

He could see the shiny weapons hanging from the guards' sides and he thought it was tragicomic how he had a whole room full of weapons that he couldn't reach. 

Boyd wasn't stupid – he knew it was better to stay still and not try to do stupid things for the time being. 

  
One of the titan guards pressed his index finger against his earphone. 

“Clear.” 

Boyd's attention was immediately drawn back to the door. All those men were standing still like statues, clearly waiting for someone powerful to come in. 

_Their boss?_

Slow and steady steps echoed through the corridor, each one making Boyd's heart sink faster. He didn't know what to expect from that situation and he hoped it was just a new – very – paranoid client.

  
A moment later a man walked through the door in a long black coat. He had his hands behind his back and a smile on his lips. His hair was dark and neatly combed to the back of his head. 

He stopped in the middle of the room, between the two huge guards. 

“Long time no see,” his smile was wide and somehow really creepy. His black eyes formed two crescents when he smiled, but there was no light in them. 

Boyd's jaw literally dropped at the sight, his face getting paler and paler. 

  
“No... This is not possible... You are...” he stuttered, taking a step back. 

  
The stranger smiled wider, showing his white teeth. He looked like a hungry animal. 

“You look like someone who just saw a ghost,” he smirked, looking around the place. 

  
“A really nice house, I knew you would go far Boyd.” 

“You're dead,” Boyd replied, the words leaving his mouth before he could help it. 

He regretted them soon after, biting his own tongue, his wide eyes still on the dark-haired man who was walking around the room like a curious cat. 

He stopped all of a sudden and turned around to face Boyd with a skeptical expression on his face. He looked down at his own body, touching his own chest down to his hips and checking his feet as well.

  
“How? I feel very much alive,” he finally replied with the creepiest grin Boyd had ever seen.

Boyd stayed silent, trying to process what was happening in front of his eyes. It was probably just a nightmare. 

That man himself was a nightmare and he just couldn't be standing in front of him now. 

The stranger approached the man and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in a friendly way. 

  
“I bet you know why I'm here,” he whispered in Boyd's ear, the dangerous smirk not leaving his lips.

Boyd's mind was racing as fast as it could. 

Okay, if that wasn't a dream and it was all real, if that man was real, the only reason he would need Boyd's help was... 

“I don't know,” 

Boyd replied, looking straight to the door and feeling the man's breath on his neck.   
It gave him goosebumps all over his skin. 

The stranger stepped back and shook his head in disappointment. 

“I know you're smarter than that, Boyd,” he smiled, hands in the pockets of his coat like he was just chatting with a friend. 

Boyd kept avoiding his gaze, cold sweat already dripping down his temples. 

He wasn't going to come out of this meeting alive, but death wasn't his biggest concern. 

He knew that man very well: he was someone who made his victims beg to die faster. 

  
What worried him the most now was what he was going to do to him before killing him.

The smile on the stranger's lips fainted a bit.

“I'm tired of playing,” he quickly said. 

“Where is Derek?” 

Boyd immediately shook his head, he knew that was what the stranger wanted to know from the very beginning. 

Still, he could be a criminal, a son of a bitch and whatever else, 

but he was also a loyal friend.

“I don't know.” 

The stranger made a weird sound, like those that could be heard on game shows when a contestant gave the wrong answer to a question. 

He shook his head again, standing in front of one of the paintings hanging on the walls. He looked at it with his hands once again folded behind his back, like a casual tourist in a museum. 

Boyd wasn't missing a single one of his movements. He knew the man was unpredictable, one moment and he could have a knife pointing at his throat or worse.

“Since we were friends once and, as you know, I'm a really good friend” he smirked, his eyes still on the canvas, “I'll ask again: where is Derek?”

  
Boyd swallowed hard and started shaking his head,

“I don't–” 

The stranger took the flower vase standing on a pillar just beside the canvas and threw it away all of a sudden. It crashed against the other wall and went in pieces on the floor, the flowers scattered across the wet parquetry. 

“Where is that ungrateful bastard?!” he growled, looking at Boyd with eyes like burning daggers. 

He looked possessed, Boyd didn't know how else to describe the human being – was he even still one?* - in front of him. 

He looked down at his feet.

There was no way out of that situation: whether he gave that man an answer or not, he was still going to die in some atrocious way. 

The only thing he could do was trying not to drag all the people he cared about along with him. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking straight into the other man's eyes.

“If you're going to kill me, just do it.”

The stranger looked surprised for a moment. He gave Boyd the once-over like it was the first time he really looked at him. Then he started laughing hysterically. 

The most insane laugh that had ever reached Boyd's ears. 

“You really grew up so much,” the man said, approaching one of the guards and wrapping an arm around their shoulders. 

“I don't think I introduced my friends properly,” 

he wiggled his eyebrows with an amused smile, like he was having fun teasing Boyd while the latter had no idea what was going to become of him.

“I'm sure you know about The Nogitsune.”

Boyd's blood froze on the spot. He looked around with wide eyes, scanning every face in the room. 

There was nothing about those men that could reveal they were from that organization, not a badge nor a pin, absolutely nothing.

The stranger seemed to read into Boyd's mind because he waved carelessly towards the guards.

“Oh well, I thought they would draw less attention if they didn't wore those ugly pins,” 

he smirked and took some steps forward.

“You see, the thing is,” he slipped a hand in one of his pockets, putting the other on Boyd's shoulder again, 

“they hired me for a special job. And this job involves that bastard we both know as Derek. So you would make things a lot easier for me and for yourself if you just told us what you know.”

  
Boyd stayed silent, returning the man's gaze with hatred. 

The latter sighed, taking a step back.

“Okay, well, I have something that could make you change your mind.” 

The man snapped his fingers and one of the guards came forward, giving him a black tablet. 

An alarm bell rang in Boyd's head but he tried to look as unaffected as possible. The stranger tapped a couple of times on the screen and turned it around to show it to his hostage. 

It was a video. 

Boyd looked straight in the man's eyes before eventually lowering his gaze to the screen, conflicted.

After just a couple of seconds his expression completely changed to a terrified one. 

The man stopped the video just a moment after and put it away, smiling widely at Boyd whose face had become as white as a ghost. 

He was completely paralyzed, not even able to open his mouth. The stranger looked satisfied. 

  
“Did you really think that dying was the worst thing that could happen to you?”

_...._...._

Jackson opened his eyes wide to the sound of screams coming from the other room. 

He quickly got up and rushed to the bedroom, wearing nothing except his joggers. 

He flung the door open to find Stiles twisting around in his bed, looking like he was fighting against an invisible attacker. He had thrown his pillow away and was kicking his blanket away as well. 

His head would turn left and right without a pause, but his eyes were still shut and the words he was shouting barely made any sense. 

Jackson ran a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture, quickly approaching the bed as he had been doing almost every night for the past week. 

  
He moved the blanket to slip under it beside Stiles and wrapped his strong arms around the shuddering body of the boy. 

Stiles was still kicking the air and tried to bite him as soon as Jackson tightened his hold around him.

“LET GO OF ME!”

Jackson only held him tighter and caressed his hair as gently as he could. He really didn't know what to do to stop his pain and whatever he had been doing for the past nights never seemed to be enough. 

“Stiles... it's okay, it's just a nightmare,” 

he repeated in his ear over and over, with the pale, slender fingers of the younger man digging in the skin of his arm. 

Stiles' breathing was heavy and irregular, he was sweating a lot and his face was twisted in pain.

Jackson couldn't bear the sight. It had almost broken him the first night he had witnessed it. 

He had already heard Stiles' nightly screaming when he was checking on him while Derek was away, but he had never seen those panic attacks in person. 

And they had gotten worse since Derek had disappeared.

Stiles would never wake up during those times, not even during his most violent attacks. 

Jackson knew he was unaware and his subconscious had total control over his actions.

He looked down and noticed the spasms had stopped. Stiles was still short of breath and had his flushed face buried in Jackson's chest but he was calmer now. 

  
The hitman sighed and kept brushing his sweaty hair with kindness – someone who barely even knew what kindness was. 

But he was trying to do his best for Stiles, because he could see the boy was haunted by his memories. 

He wished he could just take all his pain away as easily as he took away the life of his targets. 

It wasn't a romantic perspective, but Jackson didn't really have the concept of 'romantic' in him. 

Just like he didn't have the concept of feelings, 

of caring for someone else, 

of love.

Stiles was maybe the first one to stir those kind of emotions in him. He wanted to shelter him from the world, he'd fight for his safety if he had to. 

Stiles shivered and curled himself in Jackson's arms, as the man held himself up with an elbow pointed at the mattress and his face resting on one hand, while his free arm was still wrapped around Stiles' waist. 

From that position he could watch over Stiles all night, if needed. 

The boy's face suddenly twisted and his expression changed again. 

“ _Derek.._.” 

Jackson's eyes widened as he checked his face to see if he had woken up. 

Stiles was still sleeping but his eyebrows looked even droopier now, his lips slightly parted and his lower lip was trembling lightly. 

Still, Jackson was sure had he heard him murmuring Derek's name. He was used to Stiles' sleep talking but never once he had heard him say the hitman's name.

“He's not coming back... is he?” 

Stiles choked on his own words, his eyelashes slowly getting wet with tears. 

  
“W... what did I do wrong...?” 

  
Jackson's heart ached at the sight. 

_Why did Stiles have to suffer even in his sleep?_

_It was just unfair._

Jackson had always considered the unconscious as a place where he could find shelter when the real world got too harsh.

But Stiles found no rest, even in that place. 

“You did nothing wrong,” he whispered in his hair, wondering if his words could actually reach him.

  
Stiles sobbed quietly and wrapped his arms around the man's waist. 

Jackson stiffened at that, freezing in place until Stiles found a new comfortable position. Jackson could feel his warm breath against his bare chest and it slowly relaxed him. 

But Stiles was still weeping in his sleep.

“Why did he have to leave me...”

 _He has his demons,_ Jackson thought, looking at the wall with empty eyes, _and those demons hurt you._

_He won't forgive himself so easily_. 

He didn't say any of that out loud.

Instead, he just held Stiles tighter against his chest and hoped his presence would be enough for the boy to have a few peaceful hours of sleep. 

He looked down again at his face, noticing Stiles' wet cheeks; he brushed some hair off his face and sighed.

  
“You would still choose Derek even after all he's done to you, wouldn't you?”

  
_...._...._

The gate was almost empty and the few people sitting here and there were all sleeping. 

Late night flights were the less popular ones and Derek hated crowded places so of course he always chose those kind of flights. 

He sat with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and a gym bag by his side. He never traveled with heavy stuff. 

He didn't feel tired but his limbs felt all sore, for he had been working hard the last few days he had spent in Germany. 

But he couldn't rest yet. 

He heard some steps echoing through the wide hall and looking up he saw two flight-attendants walking to the boarding gate. 

One of them noticed him – he was the one sitting closer to the gate and smiled at him. Derek didn't return the smile. 

A moment after he heard the usual sound that preceded every airport announcement. 

  
_“This is the pre-boarding announcement for British Airways flight 987 to London Heathrow._

_We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time._

_Please have your boarding pass and identification ready._

_Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you.”_

  
Derek sighed and sank a bit more in his plastic chair. 

Still ten minutes to go, and though his job often required his utmost patience – which meant he was used to long waitings – he couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated. 

He thought he might as well get ready for the flight, which in his case meant simply turning off the phone, but as he fished it out of his pocket the mobile suddenly started vibrating.

It was a call from Boyd. 

Derek raised an eyebrow – the man wasn't the type to call without a reason, just to chat. 

He actually wasn't the type to call at all.

He picked up, 

“What happened?” 

He knew something must have been going on for Boyd to call him. 

“ _Derek, I need your help”_

Derek removed the phone from his ear and looked at the screen again. It still said that the caller was Boyd, but Derek could hardly believe it. 

He had never heard the man speaking with such a voice. He sounded completely different, like he was... scared to death. 

He brought the phone to his ear again, hearing the heavy breathing from the other side of the line. 

He started having ominous thoughts. 

“...What's wrong?” 

_“The Nogitsune,”_

Boyd said, sounding on the verge of tears.   
His voice was completely broken. 

Derek almost jumped on his feet right there and then. He clutched the phone in his hand and looked around before speaking with a low voice, 

“What did they do?”

_“They took Jacob..”_

It took just a moment for Derek to remember the boy he had met at Boyd's apartment. 

_“They came here,”_ Boyd went on, sounding even more agitated. 

_“They wanted to know where to find you, I told them I didn't know, Derek, I swear I didn't want to tell those bastards a single thing... Then they showed me a video,”_

his voice broke and for a moment he couldn't go on. When he spoke again, Boyd sounded incredibly tired and hopeless. 

_“They took him. They kidnapped him, Derek, I didn't know what to do. They told me they'd kill him if I didn't speak.”_

  
Derek closed his eyes slowly and lowered his head, releasing his hold on the mobile a bit. 

He should have foreseen something like that would happen. 

He wanted to destroy every single thing around him.

“What did you tell them?” He spoke slowly and calmly. 

He could feel Boyd holding his breath, like he didn't expect Derek to know . 

To know he had betrayed him. 

_“I just told them you were somewhere in Europe and no one knew your current location. Which is the truth, I don't know where you are and I wouldn't have told them anyway, you know I'm your friend, Derek–”_

“What about Stiles?” He insisted. 

He wanted to know how much they were all fucked up.

  
_“...I didn't tell them anything about him,”_

The man sounded almost offended, like it was obvious he wouldn't put the boy in danger, knowing how much he was important for the hitman. 

_“Derek, I beg you, I don't have the power to do anything, but you can. Please... I will do whatever you ask–”_

“Do I look like some cheap whore to you?” He smirked, though his eyes were as dark as ever, looking nowhere. 

The situation was fishy. Boyd hadn't told them anything useful, but they didn't kill him nor pressed to get more information. 

It sounded like they just wanted to send a message. 

But they still had that boy and Derek wasn't the type to stay still when someone touched one of his people or anything that was precious to them.

“I'll be back soon,” he spoke into the receiver. 

“Don't contact me again unless there's news.”

He was about to hang up when he heard Boyd's voice again. 

_“Derek wait!”_

He looked at the screen and put it back beside his ear. 

“What?”

Boyd took some moments before answering, and his voice was unstable when he spoke again.

  
_“Even if I didn't say anything about Stiles... I think they know. I don't know how much, but they surely know more than you think. Derek... they hired someone to track you down.”_

  
Derek scoffed at that. 

“If they want to try and track me down with the help of some preschooler, let them. I wish them good luck.” 

_“The man they hired is not just any man... I can hardly believe it myself but I think this time the organization may have the upper hand.”_

Derek was starting to get annoyed at Boyd's attempts to unsettle him. 

“Fucking speak clearly Boyd,” he growled through gritted teeth. 

There was silence from the other side of the line. Then a single long sigh.

_“Derek... he is back,”_

Boyd muttered. 

  
“ _Peter is back_.”

  
_...._...._

_“This is the final boarding call for passengers booked on British Airways flight 987 to London Heathrow._

_Please proceed to gate 5 immediately._

_I repeat._

_This is the final boarding call for passengers booked on flight 987 to London Heathrow._

_Thank you.”_

  
The flight-attendant turned off the microphone and looked at the few people gathered in line to get their documents and tickets checked, then around the gate as well. 

She furrowed her eyebrows and turned to her colleague who was checking one of the passengers. 

“Hey, wasn't there a man in a black bomber and jeans a minute ago?” 

Her friend turned around with a confused expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?”

“The man who was right there! I swear I saw him sitting right on that chair– I even smiled at him!” 

The other flight-attendant sighed and looked around the gate for a brief moment before looking back at her colleague. 

“There's no one there, hurry up with the tickets, the flight is about to depart.” 

The first flight-attendant curled her lips in a disappointed pout. 

She was sure she had seen a man sitting there, clearly waiting for the boarding to start. He had dark hair and an intimidating stare. 

She looked back at the wide hall again but couldn't find a single trace of him. 

  
He had vanished like a ghost.


	18. Chapter 18

_“Are you the bad man?”_

_Derek looked down and noticed a little girl in light blue pajamas looking at him. Her big brown eyes were looking straight into the hitman's ones._

_The room was dark, it was late night and Derek was hiding behind a corner of the big house, a gun held tight in his steady hands._

_His eyes widened a bit at the sight of the girl._

_Derek knew who she was._

_Dami, the daughter of the ambassador. She wasn't supposed to be there._

_The child kept looking at Derek, slowly rubbing one of her eyes. She didn't look scared and was dragging a teddy bear along with her little steps._

_“Are you the bad man who hides in my closet? Daddy told me you don't exist, but I knew you were real.”_

_Derek bit his lower lip and looked ahead, to the closed door at the end of the corridor. Behind that door, his target slept peacefully, unaware of the danger._

_It was supposed to be a quick cleaning._

_The man lived alone, away from his family. His wife and child would come visit him in here every now and then, not so often._

_Derek had checked, Derek had the whole background of his target, every detail about every connection he had or movement he made._

_Still, the girl was there._

_And Derek didn't expect that._

_She was just a child, but she has seen his face._

_A witness._

_“Shit, what is the girl doing here?”, came a voice from behind him._

_Derek turned to his partner and nodded towards the door._

_“You go ahead. The target is our priority.”_

_Peter didn't look convinced._

Derek stopped all of a sudden, his foot on the last step of the long staircase. 

Flashes of the past were coming back to haunt him way more often than before since he came back to New York. The way his mind would start to wander and get lost in memories he wished he could bury for good – he didn't like it at all.

He walked to the old door he knew too well and knocked twice, knowing no one would answer anyway. 

He pushed the door open and was welcomed with the unusual scent of detergent that made him freeze on the entrance corridor.

“Woah!”, came a voice from the inside. 

“Unbelievable!” 

Derek found himself trapped in a pair of thin but strong arms. 

Erica brushed her face against Derek's jacket and smiled, looking up to meet the hitman's eyes. 

“It's been so long! Did you forget about me?” she pouted. 

One corner of Derek's lips twitched in the attempt of a smile. He noticed this time the girl had some clothes on: a white wool sweater and a pair of unmatched socks. 

Derek hoped she was wearing some underwear under the sweater as well but he had no way to make sure. 

  
He waited for Erica to take some steps back and let him breathe before going into the main room.

Everything was perfectly clean and tidy. The mountain of clothes and trash on the floor was gone and every item was in its rightful place. 

Derek looked around, almost impressed. Erica wasn't the type to clean up and Danny... he was a lost cause. 

  
“Do you like it?” Erica was hanging around him with her hands behind her back like a child waiting for a response from an adult.

Derek ignored the question and noticed Danny lying on the couch and playing with the PSP in his hands. He took off his jacket, revealing the mimetic shirt under it, and threw it at Danny's face. 

The latter jolted, almost losing his grip on the console. He looked up with furrowed eyebrows and noticed Derek for the first time.

“Motherfucker-” 

“I missed you too,” Derek grinned, his combat boots making his steps sound way heavier as he walked across the room to sit down on one of the swivel chairs. 

Danny threw Derek's jacket on the other side of the couch and sat up, scratching the back of his head. 

His hair was a mess and he wore a pair of white shorts and a blue hoodie. The shorts made his legs look thinner than they actually were.

Erica smiled brightly at Derek,

“Where have you been?"

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor though the couch had plenty of space and there were several free chairs as well. 

"What the hell?" Derek heard another voice.

"Hello to you too Kira," he retorted in a sarcastic tone.

"Where the hell did you come from? I thought you were dead."

"Kira..!" Erica whined, then turned back to Derek.

  
“Where have you been?” she repeated.

“Here and there,” Derek shrugged, bending and resting both elbows on his thighs. 

He looked at the intertwined fingers between his legs and then looked up at them. 

“Any news?” 

Erica raised her index like she suddenly got an idea. She looked around and got up, rushing to one of the desks that were still as chaotic as the last time Derek had seen them. 

She took some papers and gave it to Derek. 

“Their security system is lame,” Danny said off handedly, still busy with his game. “It shouldn't take much to overcome it.”

Derek looked at the papers but could barely understand anything. They were full of codes he didn't know, it was like reading a book written by some math professor on drugs. 

He had some knowledge about program coding and such but it was clearly not enough for that kind of codes. 

He always forgot how good Danny was at his job. If that was what he considered 'lame'... Derek couldn't imagine how far his computer skills could go. 

“And...?” he raised his eyes to Kira, who sighed with annoyance. 

“I made some badges and ID cards, they should get you through whatever identity control you may encounter while inside the building,” 

she said it like it was nothing important, although Derek knew Kira was one of the best forgers in New York. 

“Are you still going with that stupid plan of taking down all the branches of the organization?” 

Derek looked down at the papers on his lap and stayed silent for a while. 

“I don't know,” he admitted. 

That was indeed his initial plan, when he was being fully eaten up by his anger and his thirst for blood, but the latest events were pushing him in another direction. 

He didn't want to waste any more time taking down all Kevin's toy soldiers one by one. He knew he needed to go straight to the heart of the organization and end that matter once and for all.

  
But first, he needed to save that Jacob boy from Peter's claws.

If he was still alive. 

Or sane. 

Derek doubted he could be both after being left alone with Peter for days. 

“What is your next move, then?” Erica asked, curious. 

“How's Stiles by the way? Why isn't he with you this time?” She looked around as if she had missed Stiles' presence in the room. 

  
Derek abruptly got up - startling both Erica and Danny - and went to the window, looking out at the city under the daylight. 

It wasn't something he could do often, he mostly lived during the night. New York looked somehow alien to him whenever he spent some time abroad. 

He didn't even know if he liked the city in the first place. He didn't even know if he liked any place on Earth. He just didn't linger in that kind of thoughts. 

  
“He's fine,” he cut short, way too bluntly and quickly even for his standards. 

Erica and Kira exchanged a meaningful glance.

“You know,” Erica hugged both of her legs to her chest, 

“the best thing to do would be hiding him in a safe place away from here until everything is settled.” She spoke slowly, with a soft voice. 

She knew Derek wouldn't like her suggestion.

Indeed, the hitman stiffened. 

“It's not that easy.”

Kira scoffed, “Don't be selfish.” 

Derek shot her a death glare. 

Erica looked at Kira with scolding eyes and shook her head slowly. 

Everyone in that room knew how much Derek cared about the young boy, even though the hitman never said a word about it. 

Kira never sugarcoated her words. She agreed with Erica and thought it was just selfish of Derek to keep Stiles in New York given the danger he was in. 

She looked at Derek and noticed how the man was trying to keep his emotions under control. 

Both Kira and Erica were unaware of his dark side.

“The only safe place for him is next to me.” 

The words seemed to echo on the walls. Derek had spoken with a low and steady voice that left no doubts about how much he believed in what he had just said. 

  
Erica looked impressed by the sincerity in Derek's voice. She didn't expect the man to admit such a thing. It was a bit like admitting his feelings for Stiles. 

Derek, on the other hand, was shocked by his own words.

He had spent weeks repeating to himself that Stiles could only be safe as long as he stayed away from him and just a couple of venomous words from Kira had been enough for his subconscious to take over his mind and let his heart speak up. 

  
_What am I saying?,_ he asked himself in a state of utter confusion. 

He didn't mean those words literally. He just meant that Stiles was certainly safe as long as he was under Derek's radar, not next to him physically.

Kira cleared her throat after some more moments of awkward silence and Derek was sure he heard her mumbling a 'whatever'.

He didn't know if he was more annoyed by Kira's arrogance or by the sight of Erica smiling from ear to ear, clearly amused at Derek's slip of tongue.

  
“There's another reason for my visit today,” the hitman quickly moved onto another topic. 

Kira rolled her eyes and moved to go back to the bedroom.

Erica sighed, “Excuse her, she's upset because I didn't get her nassygoreen for lunch.”

“It's nasi goreng! Nasi goreng!”, Kira shouted from the room. 

“It's Indonesian, not blablanesian!”

  
Erica rolled her eyes, her back on her nagging girlfriend. 

“See? Hellish.” 

But she still had that amused smile on her lips. 

It was one of those times Derek regretted having to deal with Erica and Kira. 

They were basically two kids with crazy hormones, their minds still back in college where they had fun ruining other people's lives and computers. It was still a game for them after all those years, hacking this or that site, forging this passport or that ID card... it was all fun and nothing hurt. 

They were in Derek's world but at the same time they weren't.

“What is the reason for your visit then?” Danny pushed, seeing the hitman lost in his thoughts.

Derek's eyes focused on Danny for a moment, then he turned his head to the window and looked out again. 

  
“I need to make a call first.”

  
_...._...._

Stiles kept looking out of the window with inquiring eyes. He didn't recognize that part of the city but they had been driving for so long that he wondered if they were even in New York anymore. 

  
All around them were fields and some isolated houses. The gravel under the tires made the car jolt a bit and Stiles raised an eyebrow when he noticed some kind of industrial area a few hundred meters away from them.

Jackson was focused on his driving, still he couldn't help but glance at the boy at his side every now and then. 

Stiles wore a light-brown coat that looked really warm and soft and went down to his thighs, along with a white scarf and a beanie of the same color. 

He looked extremely pretty and innocent in that outfit, which was making Jackson reconsider their plan for the day once again.

He still didn't think it was a good idea. 

He stopped the car in the middle of the industrial area and Stiles noticed those buildings were just a bunch of storehouses. They looked abandoned.

He turned to face Jackson with a skeptical expression. 

“I thought you said we were going to the shooting range?” 

Jackson smiled. 

“Yep,” 

he took his keys and got out of the car.

Stiles rolled his eyes and did the same, slamming the door carelessly. 

“What exactly is your concept of shooting range?” 

He had never been to one but he knew it certainly wouldn't look like the building in front of him. 

“Slow down,” 

Jackson caressed the door of his expensive SUV like he was touching something extremely fragile. 

“This is my baby,” he pouted. 

Stiles just shook his head, trying to hide a smile. Jackson always had a way to get right through all the walls he had built around himself. 

He slipped both hands in the pockets of his coat and looked around. 

That place really looked like no one had been in there for years, but looking at the ground Stiles noticed different tire tracks crossing each other. Someone went there regularly or at least had been there recently.

  
Jackson fished out a key and opened one of the big metallic shutters' lock. A couple of minutes later they were both inside the big storehouse.

Stiles looked around and immediately realized it wasn't some abandoned place like it looked from the outside. 

It seemed that someone was actually living in there: a couple of bunks, a couch and even a small kitchen were arranged in a corner, while on the other side Stiles could see some gym equipments. 

  
He had spent the last few days doing some exercises such as push-ups and jump ropes back at the small apartment, and Jackson had been surprised at how much Stiles could actually endure the fatigue. 

The hitman didn't know Stiles used to keep himself fit at home as well, so he wasn't new to those kind of exercises. He wasn't actually as weak as he looked, physically speaking. 

Stiles had been pushing to train with weapons since the very first day but Jackson had made it clear that he needed to build some muscles first. 

When Stiles had remarked how it could take months to do that and how they probably didn't have months of time, Jackson had given up, making him promise he would still alternate the weapon training with normal gym exercises. 

  
The young man took some steps on the dusty ground and slowly removed the scarf around his pale neck.

“What is this place?” He asked, looking up at the high ceiling. 

A private jet could perfectly fit inside that storehouse and still leave lots of space around itself.

Jackson threw his jacket on the wide couch and looked around, both hands on his hips.

“This is my secret place,” he smiled proudly and waited for Stiles to turn around before going on,

“well, not so secret actually. Some people know about it, but no one comes here except for me.”

Stiles looked interested. 

“Do all hitmen have a place like this?” 

Jackson shrugged and started looking for the stationary targets. 

“I can't tell you that. I just needed a place to keep my stuff, somewhere I could be alone if I wanted to.” 

Stiles removed his coat and beanie, walking around the place and resting his hand on the cold concrete of a pillar. 

He looked at the bunch of boxes in a corner and noticed some wall bars on one side as well. He could totally picture Derek having a place like that for himself as well.

He immediately shook his head, _why am I thinking about him even now?_

“We'll be staying here for a few days if you don't mind,” Jackson explained, nodding at some stuff beside him. 

“It's not so cold inside when all the shutters are closed and I have heaters and blankets. I used to sleep here during long trainings so you can trust me,” he smiled reassuringly. 

Stiles already imagined something like that from the moment Jackson asked him to bring along a change of clothes and some other personal stuff. 

He didn't mind, he was willing to do anything necessary to become stronger, even if that meant sleeping in a cold storehouse. 

He was sure Jackson and Derek had gone through a training way harder than his own so he couldn't complain.

They spent the next ten minutes in silence, both getting into more comfortable clothes for the training with Jackson preparing the targets and the gun Stiles would use – a black Walther P22 semiautomatic. 

He settled two chairs around a large box that worked as a low table and sat down, following Stiles with his eyes until the latter met his gaze. 

  
“Come here,” he nodded at the empty chair in front of him. 

Stiles had his bangs and part of his hair tied up in a ponytail on the back of his head and was just wearing a black and red tracksuit. 

He sat across from Jackson and looked at the gun on the box with attentive eyes. 

“Is that...?”

Jackson wore the most serious expression Stiles had ever seen on his face. He was clearly not happy with the situation and given other circumstances maybe Stiles would have felt guilty or uncomfortable in pushing the hitman to do something he wasn't really enjoying, but he had learned long ago that there was no space for second thoughts or trivial feelings such as guilt or regret if he wanted to achieve his aim. 

  
“First of all, you need to know the weapon you're handling,” 

Jackson took the gun and started describing every single part of it to Stiles, from the muzzle to the grip.

Stiles tried to focus, though he wasn't really interested in how it was made but rather in how to use it. His attention was caught again when Jackson showed him how to load and unload the semiautomatic.

Jackson showed him the magazine, “They have ten bullets each.”

“Sometimes one is enough,” Stiles murmured, but somehow his words seemed to echo in that big space. 

  
Jackson stared at him for a while. His eyes were somehow empty, like he was surrendering to the fact that Stiles was letting darkness into his heart and he knew there was no going back. 

“...When I'm unsure about what is going to happen, I always carry around more than one magazine,” he went on, ignoring Stiles' words. 

It was better that way, and he had no right to judge or to stop him anyway.

  
“It's important to always keep the safety on when you're not using it, and even when it's off, never rest your finger on the trigger, always rest it on the trigger guard unless you need to shoot,” 

Jackson showed him all the parts he was naming one by one, making some examples of what Stiles would have to do for each step. 

“That's always the first thing you learn.” 

  
“Who taught you?” Stiles asked, curious.

Jackson was a bit taken aback by the question, not expecting Stiles to focus on anything that wasn't the training, eager to learn as he looked. 

He paused for a moment, then smiled a little.

“The first time I held a gun in my hand was during the military service,” he looked down at the handgun while his eyes softened. 

  
Stiles didn't understand how could someone look so happy in remembering such a thing. 

Stiles wasn't sure if he had the courage to go through military.

“That's where I met the others,” 

Jackson went on, still focusing on the weapon in his hands.   
He was touching it almost absentmindedly. 

For a moment he looked hesitant, then he added: “...Derek, too.” 

Stiles's eyes immediately went wide. A pang in his chest reminded him that the wound was still far from being healed, but the same pang also meant something else and he was well aware of it.

Jackson looked at him carefully. 

The boy had lowered his gaze to his legs and his fingers were clenching around his pants. His face seemed sculpted in stone while he probably fought against his own feelings, lips tight and eyes unfocused. 

  
Jackson knew he had to tell Stiles about it sooner or later. He might as well do it now. 

He put down the gun with slow and careful gestures, weighing the words in his mind to choose the most appropriate ones to begin his speech. 

  
“...You know,” he cleared his throat, looking elsewhere. 

“That night... What Derek did to you... He wasn't aware of it.” 

Stiles' head shot up to meet Jackson's gaze but the hitman could barely face him.

_Why was Jackson bringing that up now?_

Stiles' whole body froze like the coldest of all winter winds had just wrapped his whole body in its merciless grip. 

Jackson immediately noticed the drastic change in Stiles' expression and raised both of his hands in front of him as if he wanted to stop the boy's upcoming protests. 

  
“I'm not saying he's justified. He isn't, he's at fault... I am too.” 

“You?” 

Stiles' voice was way weaker than usual and trembled slightly, but his glistening eyes were fiercely looking into Jackson's ones. 

His fingers were even tighter around the fabric of his pants now. 

The man sighed, regretting his every action and word. 

“He should have warned you... I should have warned you,” 

he brushed a hand against his nape in a gesture that revealed just how much he felt uncomfortable with that topic. 

“Derek has... some issues.” 

Stiles straightened himself up, confusion slowly seeping through his features. 

Of course he didn't think Derek would be a normal person, he was a hitman and apparently he also enjoyed violence and blood a lot. 

He had a completely different concept of laws, morals and basically everything else. 

But the way Jackson had said it... it sounded like Derek had some serious issue, and judging from his actions Stiles could already tell it was something concerning his mental health. 

  
His grip on his pants loosened, as his mind was wandering away from his painful memories to focus back on the present conversation. 

“What do you mean?” He asked in a low voice, weighing every word and looking straight in the other man's eyes. 

He didn't want to lose a single word or twitch a on his face. 

Jackson bit his lower lip, looking to his side for a few moments before returning Stiles's gaze.

“He loses control of himself when he gets angry. It's like there's a switch in his brain and that switch goes off when he exceeds a certain limit... He- blacks out completely,” 

he kept staring at Stiles to make him understand just how serious Derek's situation was. 

“I'm not exaggerating when I say he's not himself anymore after he blacks out. He literally doesn't know what he's doing or saying and he never remembers a single thing of what he does during those attacks.”

  
Stiles swallowed hard, his eyes dropping on the floor as memories of that dreadful night came back to his mind. 

He remembered Derek's dark eyes and his frozen features, his voice deeper than usual and so distorted that Stiles barely recognized it as his. 

He had thought Derek looked like a different person but he didn't know just how much he was right back then.

He felt cold sweat rolling down his nape. 

He suddenly remembered Derek's terrified expression just before he left. He looked like someone who had no idea what was going on but Stiles had been too scared to rationalize Derek's actions at the time. 

  
“What is it?” 

He realized he didn't have enough strength to raise his eyes in Jackson's again and his voice sounded way weaker than he wanted to.

“He told me they gave it many names, but there's no final diagnosis for his disorder,” 

Jackson shrugged, fumbling with his own fingers while he carefully avoided looking at Stiles just like the latter was doing with him. 

There wasn't any particular reason for that, they just felt like even making an eye-contact was too much to handle while assimilating that information. 

“Apparently he spent his good amount of time with doctors when he was young. I remember he used to visit the infirmary a lot during the military service as well. That's how he met Deaton by the way,” 

he added all of a sudden, thinking maybe it'd be easier for Stiles to make all the connections if he knew their backgrounds. 

“The military helped him in another way too: he started to manage his anger.  
There's no medicine or therapy that really works with him, but through those trainings he realized that strangely enough just holding a weapon is a relief for his mind.  
I think people thought he was some kind of psycho back then,” 

a sad smile formed on Jackson's lips. 

“He thinks that of himself too.” 

The corners of Stiles' lips curled down while his expression changed into a painful one once again, but this time for a totally different reason. 

He was trying to imagine how much Derek had gone through and how much he must have hated himself – Stiles knew it too well because he used to hate himself as well when he started to develop his PTSD.

He felt powerless and weak and put all the blame on himself, wishing he could just disappear or even wishing he was never born in the first place. 

  
Jackson didn't seem to notice the change in his expression, maybe because he still wasn't looking at him. He was totally lost in his memories now. 

“His path was basically marked from that moment on. He really has improved a lot since then in terms of managing his attacks,” 

he finally looked up and immediately found Stiles's eyes staring at him in disbelief. 

“... I know it doesn't look like he can control himself, and indeed he can't and probably won't ever be able to properly control his outbursts, but believe me when I say it's not as bad as it was years ago.   
There was a time when if he lost control, he would almost always kill somebody.” 

  
Stiles felt numerous shivers running up his spine at those last words. The thought alone was too terrifying, he didn't dare to picture the scene. 

Jackson was still talking, unaware of the boy's feelings.

“He would never remember anything, not even after the most cruel actions. He would destroy anything and anyone that was around him and nothing could wake him from his blackouts.   
He snapped way easier than he does now too.   
A single word or just someone staring at him in a way he didn't like – blackout.   
Now he's way more skilled in keeping his emotions under control. Also...” 

Jackson bit his lower lip again and looked at Stiles with apologetic eyes for what he was about to say.  
“...he has never managed to stop himself in time until that night with you.   
Something you did or said must have snapped him out of his blackout, and I know this doesn't justify or makes up for anything, but it's a miracle, Stiles,” 

Jackson's voice was full of hope badly hidden behind his concern. 

“It means you have some kind of power over him. I don't know how you did it but you brought him back. No one has ever managed to do that before.”

  
He stopped talking because he knew Stiles would either walk away or get really angry at him. He had been subtly implying things that Stiles surely didn't want to hear and he had been giving away information about Derek he probably didn't want to know. 

Telling him about Derek's problem was like telling him there was no future for them. 

Who would want to spend even just one minute near someone with little or no control over their emotions? 

Derek was dangerous and that was one of the reasons he had been pushing away everyone. His job wouldn't allow him to have any kind of relationship anyway, but that didn't mean he couldn't if he really wanted to. 

But Derek knew no one would stay by his side anyway. 

  
Stiles' mind was a mess. He had never felt so confused and lost, not even during his own panic attacks. His body was trembling all over, his hands as cold as ice laid frozen on his thighs; his lips a tight line and his whole face looked paralyzed. 

Many questions were running through his mind, he wondered why Derek didn't share his problem with him right away, just like he had done with his own. 

He didn't want to believe it was the lack of trust, because even though Derek barely trusted anyone, he knew there must have been another reason to keep that a secret.

Maybe Derek was... scared? 

Scared that Stiles would run away if he knew..?

Nonetheless, keeping it a secret had been selfish of him. Derek knew he could potentially hurt Stiles and yet he hadn't said a word, leaving Stiles defenseless when the time of danger had come. 

If Stiles had known, maybe he could have prepared himself one way or another. 

That was what made Stiles angry now, maybe even more than the assault in itself. The trauma remained, but now he knew where to direct his anger and that could help him relieve his pain.

  
Jackson could read the emotions on Stiles' face like an open book so he sighed, leaning back on his chair and patting his thighs absentmindedly.

“He's an idiot. And a bastard. I know that,” he admitted. “He was probably thinking you would try to escape and his priority was to keep you safe so he couldn't allow you to run away alone.”

  
“He thinks so _low_ of me?” Stiles slowly raised his head, a crooked smile on his lips even though his eyes were full of rage. 

“He knows about my problem, he knows how much I... care about him, and he still thought I would just leave him like that if he told me the truth?   
Wow, I really must look like a stupid child to him.” 

The bitterness in his voice was enough for Jackson to know that they were taking a dangerous road with that conversation. 

“It's not that. He just... never had anyone special to him- or better...” he sighed again. 

“He had a friend once but it didn't go well... so from that moment on he decided he was better off alone.”

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. It seemed like there was so much to know about Derek and he was just seeing the tip of the iceberg. 

“You're his friend though.” 

  
Jackson shook his head. “It's different. This person was like family to him. Derek was already someone who loathed any human contact, but after that point he really became a hermit.   
That's why I was so surprised when he told me about you.”

“But Liam... and Scott... and all the others?” 

Stiles was even more confused, if possible.

Jackson flashed him a sad smile. “True, Liam is like a little brother to him. Scott is probably as important to him as I am... and about the others, I never met them but they're just acquaintances to him.  
The man I'm talking about was on another level.”

  
Stiles felt like he was getting lost in the intricate world of Derek's connections. 

“What happened to that man?” 

“He died.” 

The blunt answer made Stiles fall silent. So that was Derek's burden, the reason behind his behavior and probably the event that messed up with his brain. 

  
“So... after that man died, Derek developed his anger issues?” he asked hesitantly. 

He could have never guessed he and Derek had so much in common. Both with their traumas and dealing with the consequences of those. 

Jackson's eyes went wide. “Oh no, that has nothing to do with it, actually.” 

  
Stiles was taken aback. His lips curled in a pout, a sign that he was thinking hard. 

“Then, what happened for him to become like that?”

The hitman furrowed his eyebrows, like he didn't expect such a question. After a moment though, his features relaxed and he attempted a smile. 

“You're trying to find a reason behind Derek's problems, I see,” he stroked his chin, pondering for a while. 

“True, usually people develop those kind of disorders after some trauma, but it's not Derek's case. He was born like that.  
I guess it's genetic, but since he never met his parents he never found out.”

Stiles didn't expect that at all. “You mean... he has been dealing with this condition his whole life?” 

  
Jackson slowly nodded, keeping an eye on his expression. He could see the revelation was deeply affecting the young man. 

Stiles got up after a moment of hesitation and started pacing in that huge space with slow and steady steps, his arms around his waist and his eyes on the ground. He needed some moments for himself, to reflect and organize his thoughts.

Chaos. 

The whole situation was a total chaos. 

He didn't know what to feel anymore. He was angry at Derek for not telling him, he was still shocked because of the assault, but he also had mixed feelings about Derek's past and most of all about his health issues. 

He couldn't really hate him, not after knowing the whole story. 

_But could he really forgive him just because he supposedly wasn't aware of his actions?_

  
He sighed, stopping in his tracks. He was conflicted. He couldn't really forgive Derek but he couldn't really blame him either. So what was he going to do? 

He knew deep in his heart that he still wanted to meet Derek again and most of all, he wanted to stay by his side.

Stiles' eyes went wide. 

Staying by Derek's side?

He now knew that was no safe place for anyone. The man could have one of his attacks when he least expected it,   
it was unpredictable. It was dangerous, Stiles knew it.

_Maybe if I just run away as soon as I sense something's wrong..._

_his attacks don't last for long as far as I could see,_  
he thought. 

_I could just disappear for a while and go back when everything is okay again._

_That way I wouldn't get hurt and Derek wouldn't have to worry about me being hurt either._

  
He knew it was absurd, but it could work. He wanted to be there for him and help him out of his attacks but he knew there was no way, and he couldn't rely on his luck, so the best he could do was to leave him alone to avoid more problems for the both of them.

_Up until now I always sensed when something was wrong with him, so it shouldn't be hard in the future either, right?_

_Also, I could keep something always with me, like a little weapon, a knife or something... or just pepper spray?_

_Just in case he tries to attack me again..._

_Yes, it could be a good compromise._

  
There's always a way out of every situation. He didn't want to hurt Derek but he knew he couldn't bear another assault.   
It would destroy him mentally. And he would wreck Derek as well. 

He remembered those hazel eyes full of terror, he knew Derek had felt like a monster.   
He didn't want to see that look on his face ever again. 

  
He stopped once more in the middle of that empty hall, realizing he had been walking in circles for a while without noticing. But the most shocking realization was the way his mind was working around Derek's issue to find a solution that would allow the both of them to stay together. 

He had never even taken into consideration the option of leaving Derek, not even after all Jackson had told him. His feelings for the hitman seemed to be deeper than he was aware of. 

  
“Are you okay?” came Jackson's voice from behind him. 

It didn't sound near and when Stiles turned around he realized he had reached the other end of the storehouse during his mindless wandering. He could see the shining weapon in Jackson's hand as he walked back to him. 

His mind was a too crowded place now and he indeed needed to focus on something else. 

He stole the gun from Jackson's hand and took the safety off with a fluid motion. The gun made a clicking sound that echoed on the walls and Stiles smiled at the hitman. 

  
“Shall we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done writing the story so I'll post every day🙃 
> 
> Yay me!!! 🎊🎉


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for : Torture/violence

Erica clearly liked the new guest a lot because she hadn't taken her eyes off him since he had arrived. 

Kira didn't seem to mind, but then again she wasn't even paying attention to what was happening in the room.

And Danny was too busy playing with his PSP once again.

Apparently he had a rule of granting only ten minutes of his time per day to another human being that wasn't Erica or Kira and Derek had used up the whole of those ten minutes.

So now he wasn't interested in whatever the new guest had to say or why was he even there in the first place.

Boyd looked extremely uncomfortable and Derek couldn't blame him. 

Kira and Erica made everyone feel like that at first meeting. 

Boyd was sitting in the middle of the couch, his back straight and his hands on his thighs, his whole posture extremely rigid. 

Erica knelt beside him, one elbow on the back of the couch as to hold her head up while she looked at the guest attentively. 

Derek knew some supernatural power must have stepped in to prevent Erica from sitting right on Boyd's lap – she would do that to almost everyone she met for the first time, most of all if she liked them. 

“You're so handsome,” Erica chirped, touching some locks of Boyd's brown hair.   
His natural color was way darker and apparently the dark brown dye was fading away. 

Boyd looked to his side, where Derek was sitting a couple of meters from the couch. His eyes screamed help, for he clearly was unsettled by Erica's weirdness. 

  
Derek cleared his throat, deciding it was time to cut that ridiculous act short. 

“Is that it?”

Boyd blinked twice in confusion – Erica's creepy attitude had made him lose sight of the topic. 

“What?” 

Erica was squeezing the muscles of his arm now. 

“Is that all he said?”

Boyd glanced at Erica, who flahed another bright smile at him while still touching his arm.

“...Yes...” he cleared his throat and looked back at Derek, regaining focus. 

“Yes, I told you everything. He told me they keep Jacob in the M-Building.   
I think it's one of their branches but I don't know where it is.   
In the video I could only see this dark room...” 

His expression immediately turned into a pained one. “he was tied to a chair at the center of it. I couldn't see his face, he was unconscious...” 

His voice betrayed him and he bent down, his elbows on his thighs and both hands covering his face. He couldn't go on. 

Erica looked at the miserable man in front of her with sad eyes and gently caressed his back in small circles.

“It's going to be okay,” she whispered.

“How do you know?!” Boyd snapped, looking up again. 

“You don't know who Peter is. You don't know what he's done and what he's capable of doing. 

What the fuck do you know? I don't even know who you are!” 

Erica looked at his swollen eyes and stayed silent, still soothing his back in circles. 

Boyd's words didn't affect her, she knew the man was in a state of shock and needed to direct his anger and frustrations at someone. 

Erica barely knew him, but she didn't mind being cursed at if that could make the man feel better. She was a kind soul under all those layers of weirdness.

“He wants me.”

Everyone in the room – except Danny – looked at Derek, whose eyes were on the ground, his fingers intertwined between his legs as he sat with both elbows on his thighs. 

Boyd wiped some unhed tears from his eyes and looked at the hitman. 

“What?” 

“He told you where they kept him so that you could tell me.  
He already knew you were not going to tell him anything about me, his aim was to make me come out on my own will.” 

_He's using the people I know against me._  
 _As always,_  
 _he knows me better than anyone else._

  
Derek didn't look concerned, but Boyd knew better.

“...This means it's a trap right?” 

His voice was trembling. “This means... you can't go right into a trap...”

_It also meant Jacob would be dead and Boyd knew it._

Derek knew exactly what kind of thoughts were going through Boyd's mind. Just looking at him was enough to know the man's feeling. 

  
He got up and started pacing the room. 

“We need to outline a plan,” he stated. He stopped and looked at Kira. 

“I believe it's not a problem for you to find this M-Building, am I wrong?” 

Kira smirked. “It goes without saying.” 

Derek licked his lips, thoughtfully. 

“We have the documents and the codes, but I don't think it'll be enough. I think I'll need some help on the spot this time,” he met Kira's eyes again and fell silent. 

Kira's lips became a tight line and she nodded slowly, showing maybe the most serious expression she had ever worn up until that moment. 

“I understand. We're coming with you.”

Derek nodded back. 

“Then, now we need to–”

“What?!”

The whole room fell silent at once. Derek turned around to find Danny exactly where he had been that whole time: lying messily on the old armchair, the console in his hands. 

A single detail was different: his sharp eyes were on Derek now, though the rest of his body hadn't moved a single inch. If normally he never look amused, now everyone could tell he looked completely upset.

Danny shifted his gaze from Kira to Derek. 

“What do you think you're doing?” his question was only for the hitman. 

Erica stepped in. “He needs our help, Danny. It's going to be fun!,” she bounced on the couch in excitement. 

“I never had the chance to work 'on the field'– is that how you call it, Derek?” 

Derek kept staring at Danny. There was a time he would have thought the boy was just being incredibly annoying, but right now it wasn't exactly like that. 

If Derek had to imagine Stiles in Erica's or Kira's place, he could immediately understand why Danny was so reluctant in letting his friends to be dragged into such a dangerous situation. 

“I will make sure they're safe,” he promised. 

“I can wipe my ass with your promises,” Danny retorted. 

“Nothing will happen to them,” Derek insisted. 

He meant it with every fiber of his being. Erica and Kira were important to him too. 

“Sure it won't, 'cause they are not coming with you.” 

  
Boyd felt the need to step in. “This is not just about you!” 

Danny shot a cocky glare at the dealer. 

“I don't fucking care, it's your fault if you don't know how to protect your people. I know how to protect mine.”

Boyd clenched his hands into fists and fell silent. He already felt guilty about Jacob, he didn't need someone else to remind him how much of a naïve piece of shit he had been. 

Erica had been observing the whole scene without saying a word. She didn't like fights and most of all she didn't like seeing the people he loved fighting.

  
“Danny,” she said loudly, in order to interrupt everyone else. She waited until Danny had his eyes on her, then smiled. 

"It's okay Danny, I know you worry about us, but Derek would be there. It would be fine."

"Yeah, Danny-" Kira smirked. “You know I love you, but you're not my babysitter. So, shut the fuck up.”

Derek and Boyd were taken aback, but Danny didn't look as surprised.   
He just rolled his eyes at the ceiling. 

“Try to bring your ass back home then,” he mumbled, feeling like a child that just got scolded by his mom.

Even though they were the same age, and both Erica and Danny acted way more child-like than Kira most of the time, sometimes they also knew how to point out that they were old enough to do whatever they wanted to do, with or without Danny's consent. 

Which was totally in their rights, and Danny knew it. He was just worried for them, because he didn't trust Derek just as he didn't trust anyone else. 

He wouldn't trust his own mother with his friends' life, let alone some messed up hitman.

  
Derek cleared his throat, as if to say 'can we go back to the plan now?'. 

He wasn't annoyed but he certainly wasn't there to witness the friends bickering. 

Boyd was still standing beside him, hands clenched so tight around his hoodie that his knuckles had turned completely white. He had been looking at nothing but the floor for a long time now, his mind wandering in the land of blame and regrets.

  
Derek knew he was indeed to blame – he was a dealer but he had been acting so naïve the whole time.   
Boyd seemed to think that no one would ever come after him since he always provided everything his clients wanted and he never stepped on anyone's feet, metaphorically speaking.

Growing up in a poor family, his only aim was to become richer and richer, and he had fought his whole life to arrive where he was now. 

Derek knew Boyd was basically just a merchant. He didn't have the mind nor the attitude to deal with criminals if not for business. He swam in dark waters without knowing just how dangerous the sharks could be.

But that didn't mean Derek was going to leave him mourning the one he loved. 

  
“First of all, we need to find the blueprints of this M-Building, then we can outline a plan based on those, though we can't be sure of where exactly they keep their hostage until we are there.   
That's why Kira will have to do some work on the spot,”   
he looked at Kira who just nodded in response. 

“Also if they're not complete idiots they will have their security system upgraded or at least added some tricks so even though we have all the ID cards and passwords, they may not be enough to get in,” 

his eyes roamed all around the room, noticing how Danny had gone back to ignoring all of them.

Boyd, instead, was looking at him with wide eyes. 

“But Derek... it's a trap, you said it yourself. Peter wants your head!” 

Derek nodded. “I know.”

Boyd looked even more confused. 

“You're saying... you're still going to save Jacob nonetheless?” 

Derek took his time before answering and in the end, he chose not to. Instead, he patted Boyd's back only once – something he usually never did with anyone – and focused his attention back on Erica.

“You think both of you can start looking for the blueprints now?” 

Erica clapped her hands in excitement. 

“Sure!”

She jumped off the couch and took her beloved place in front of the computers, Kira reluctantly following along.

Boyd kept looking at Derek's profile, touched. He grabbed the hitman's arm with a shaky hand. 

“It'll probably take a lifetime for me to pay you back, but I will try to do my best.” 

“There's no use in thinking about this now,” Derek replied, freeing himself from Boyd's hold. 

“Actually, there is,” Kira said from her workspace. 

Her fingers were flying on the keyboard as fast as light even as she spoke, but she stopped all of a sudden and turned on her swivel chair to face Boyd. 

Shee was smiling from ear to ear. 

“Derek may be your friend but I don't do charity. I don't know what the deal between the two of you is and I don't care, because I expect to see lots of money after this job is done. "

She batted her long eyelahes in a mocking way that totally clashed with her strong words. 

  
Boyd nodded way too quickly. “O- of course. I'll pay you well.” 

It was clear he would do anything in that kind of situation and Kira knew it too well. She had a satisfied smile when she went back to the screen.

Derek couldn't help but grin at that brief exchange. He honestly never expected to have all those people in the same room one day. 

  
He nodded at the couch and slightly puhed Boyd away. 

“Sit there and wait while these kids here does their magic.” 

Kira snorted. 

“This 'kid' here broke into your laptop in less than one minute so you better tone down your arrogance, Derek.”

Derek's grin fell while Danny broke into a belly laugh. 

_...._...._

Stiles wiped some sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his white tee and blinked away some drops that had been caught in his eyelahes. 

His limbs felt heavy and sore and his legs trembled a little but he looked as determined as ever. 

  
“Is this the best you can do?” 

Jackson was teasing him, holding up a couple of punch mitts with both hands. 

Stiles had been hitting and hitting them again for a while now, his hands wrapped in a pair of boxing gloves that were making his fingers numb. Jackson had tried to make sure Stiles was really okay after that long conversation about Derek, but the boy had just cut it short saying they had talked enough and he just wanted to train. 

  
The man hadn't managed to get anything else out of him. Stiles was using all he had to prove Jackson that he was strong enough.

The hitman had let him use the gun for a while, but Stiles just didn't have the attitude nor the right aim. When one of the recoils had almost sent him flat on the ground, Jackson had taken the gun away from him and decided it was maybe smarter if they worked a bit on Stiles' strength and resistance first. 

His eyes were filled with anger when he threw another punch at Jackson's mitts, almost losing his balance from the enormous zeal. 

Jackson caught him in time, wrapping one arm around his slender waist and making sure Stiles' feet would find the ground again before letting him go.

“Are you tired? Your blows get weaker and weaker,” Jackson noticed, lowering his hands.

  
Stiles was panting but he didn't want to stop. They didn't have much time and he wanted to make the best out of the few days of intense training he was going to spend there.

He wiped his mouth with one glove and smirked. 

“Why are you asking? Maybe you're the one who's tired.” 

Jackson raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, really?” 

Stiles licked his dry lips, his voice croaked and he could barely catch his breath but he had never felt better.  
He was working on himself,   
on getting stronger,   
and nothing could feel as good.

“Besides, this whole punching thing is boring and I don't think it'd be really useful when I'm face-to face with an opponent.   
You know, they wouldn't just stay there and take my blows as you're doing,” he smiled, clearly trying to tease Jackson. 

The hitman got the hint. 

“You want to try some hand-to-hand combat? Now?” 

He removed his punch mitts and laughed. 

“You can barely hold yourself up, I'm not fighting with you in these conditions,” he shook his head in amusement and gave his back to Stiles to go and put the mitts away. 

  
It seemed like that the training was over for that day. It was already dark out and Stiles had been training the whole afternoon. It was enough for a start.

Something hit the back of his head as he was walking. It was somehow soft, but heavy. Shocked, he bruhed his nape with his fingers and turned around.   
Looking down, he noticed one of the boxing gloves laying at his feet. 

He looked up again to find a smirking Stiles with only one glove on. 

“Why are you chickening out?” He teased again. 

“Here I thought hitmen had more guts... Ah, really disappointing,” he removed the remaining glove and toss it aside. 

Jackson approached him slowly, studying his features and movements. 

  
Even if Stiles was trying to hide it, he was clearly exhausted. His hair was soaked in sweat almost as much as his tee, his hands were shaking a little every now and then and his breathing was irregular. 

But Stiles clearly wanted to challenge him and Jackson never backed down on any challenge.

“You want to fight, huh?”

He started walking in circles around Stiles, cautiously, like a vulture. 

Stiles did the same after a while and they kept studying each othis in silence. 

“I'm not going to go easy on you just because you're a beginner,” was Jackson's warning, to which Stiles just grinned.

“I didn't ask you to,” he replied, giving Jackson the once-over, trying to understand what was the best move to make next. 

  
When Jackson seemed to get distracted for a split second, Stiles threw himself at him without hesitation, his fist aiming at the man's face.

He immediately realized his mistake. 

Jackson's eyes were back on him almost immediately and he smirked like someone who expected such a move. 

_He faked distraction_ , was Stiles' last thought before losing his balance when his fist completely missed Jackson's face. 

  
The hitman was way faster than Stiles had expected, he had easily avoided his blow and was now blocking his wrist with one strong hand.

Jackson held tightly onto Stiles' arm and used it to turn the boy around in an attempt to block his upper body with both of his arms.   
It was a simple technique that always worked in hand-to-hand combat, but much to his surprise, Stiles didn't give up and tried to make the hitman lose his balance as well by pushing himself forward and dragging Jackson along with him.

  
Jackson tried to hold himself in place but eventually his feet lost traction and they both fell to the ground, one on top of another.

  
Jackson was still holding Stiles' wrist and immediately looked at Stiles' eyes to make sure he was okay.

Stiles laid under him with his eyes closed, and Jackson felt a lump in his throat. 

He had fallen over him, maybe he had hurt him somewhere? 

Or he had hit the ground too hard? 

They didn't fall in a particularly dangerous angle, but he couldn't be sure.

  
“Stiles? Are you alright?” 

He cupped the boy's cheek and leaned closer to make sure he was breathing properly. 

Stiles' eyes stayed closed and he showed no reaction to Jackson's voice.   
The hitman bruhed some hair away from the boy's forehead and cupped both of his cheeks with his hands. 

“Stiles? ...Stiles!” 

He was worried now. There was a long moment of terrifying silence in which Jackson could feel cold sweat rolling down his back. 

Then he noticed the grin on Stiles' lips. 

Stiles opened his eyes and turned his face to stare at Jackson, flashing his best smirk at him. 

“I won,” 

was the first thing he said before sticking his tongue out in the most childish way. 

The shock on Jackson's face was as clear as the sigh of relief he released soon after.   
He smiled, though his face still showed a worried frown. 

“You're really...” 

  
Stiles laughed and tried to free himself from Jackson's hold. 

“I'm really what? I proved I'm really a match for you, didn't I?” 

He looked so amused Jackson wanted to wipe that smile off his lips. 

He managed to pin both of Stiles' wrists on the ground beside his head and found himself staring straight into his eyes, their faces just a few inches apart.

Stiles seemed to lose his insolence right then and there, his wide eyes returning Jackson's gaze in both anticipation and confusion. 

Jackson's stare was intense and his eyes were searching Stiles' face like he had to memorize every single detail of his features. 

Stiles felt his cheeks burning but couldn't bring himself to look away. 

He was paralyzed. 

Jackson's lips parted like he was about to say something, but for long moments he didn't manage to speak. 

When he found his voice again, he said, 

“You're really...” 

but then his voice faded again. 

Stiles felt the urge to drag the words out of Jackson's mouth. He was still pinned under him but strangely enough, the weight of the man didn't seem to bother him at all. 

He knew he had no way out and his body didn't seem to be any less frozen than before so he was basically in Jackson's hands.   
If the man kissed him right then and there, Stiles wasn't sure whether he would be able to avoid it.

Eventually, Jackson licked his lower lip and sighed. 

  
“You're really exhausted,” he said, freeing Stiles from his hold. 

  
He slowly got up and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. 

“I think we should get some rest,” he turned his back on Stiles and walked away. 

  
Stiles was left in a state of utter confusion as he just laid there for a few long minutes, his arms still motionless at both sides of his head, his eyes on the ceiling and his heart beating crazily fast. 

_What has just happened?_

  
Dinner that night consisted of two cans of some vegetable soup, they ate it on the box table – as they had decided to call it that – in complete silence, since neither of them seemed to find the proper words to start a conversation after the 'almost kiss' incident.

 _But then,_ Stiles wondered, _was that really an 'almost kiss'?_

Jackson hadn't even tried to get closer to his mouth, he had just been staring at him and though Stiles was sure the hitman wanted to kiss him – he could bet his life on it – he still didn't even make an attempt.  
And that left Stiles really confused about the whole episode.

  
Another thing that left him puzzled - and not to mention, a bit worried - was his own reaction to the situation. 

Did he want that kiss or not? 

Judging from his reaction, or better, his non-reaction, he had probably looked like someone who couldn't wait to be kissed. 

But if he only thought about it for a moment, he knew it wasn't exactly like that. 

He had never really thought about kissing Jackson and though he found him attractive, that wasn't enough to say he had feelings for him. 

He actually saw the man as a friend, but he couldn't deny that there was some kind of attraction between them because otherwise, 

how could someone explain those moments? 

His heart had threatened to jump out from his mouth and it certainly meant something. 

  
Stiles sighed and slowly ate spoon after spoon of his soup in silence, unaware of Jackson's eyes on him. 

The hitman took that deep sigh as a sign that he had to do something to at least try to start a conversation and indeed there was something that he had been eager to ask Stiles from the very first day they met.

“Do you mind if I ask you a very personal question?” 

Stiles' head shot up and he stared at Jackson with wide eyes. 

Countless questions ran through his mind but he couldn't tell which one Jackson could possibly ask. 

But then again, what did he have to hide? 

He was an open book.

  
“Sure,” he took one more spoon of warm soup and shoved it into his mouth while he looked at the man in front of him.

He was actually happy Jackson had made an effort to start a conversation.

He suddenly thought Derek wouldn't have done the same thing – he liked silence more than words.   
His heart sank a little.

Jackson took in the soft locks of hair falling on Stiles's cheeks. 

There was a backroom in the storehouse, and Jackson had arranged a small changing room there, including a simple shower installation that Stiles had used shortly after their training concluded.

He now wore a gray hoodie over a black tee and his usual sweatpants. 

Jackson had seen him holding a gun just a few hours before, and with an expression on his face that could only be described as determined and furious.   
But now Stiles had gone back to looking like the boy Jackson had met that first day at Derek's house. 

He liked this Stiles the most.

  
“I was wondering... Actually, I have been wondering the same thing for a while now,” he bruhed the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. 

He wasn't really good with words, and yet he was talking too much now. It was unusual for him and he felt awkward in his own skin. 

  
“Why did you look for a cleaner? I mean... why didn't you try to report Kevin to the police first?” 

  
He bit his lower lip, knowing the topic was a delicate one. 

“I mean, we usually don't get jobs from people like you... Average citizens don't usually think about hiring hitmen as a first choice,”  
one of the corners of his mouth raised in the attempt of a smile. 

Stiles swallowed one last spoon of soup with effort and slowly put down the can, setting the spoon over it with care.   
His lips trembled while he tried to crack a smile.

“Cleaners? Is that your code name? It's funny,” but he wasn't laughing though. His expression fell back to being grave soon after. 

“The thing is... I saw no way out. It took me some time to realize what he was doing to me wasn't right,”   
he smiled, a sad smile that didn't reach his brown eyes. 

“You know, at first you start to think 'What did I do wrong? Maybe I deserve it?' and stupid things like that... 

All the while, he kept beating me and abusing me and I kept thinking I deserved it for God knows what reason.   
But then it hit me... that I didn't do anything. That this was just his nature, his violent nature, and that he thought I was his property and that it was his right to use me like that.” 

  
Jackson lowered his eyes on the table, his elbows on his thighs and his fists clenched between his legs. 

He couldn't bear the sight of Stiles' face. 

He looked broken. 

Just broken. 

Stiles took some moments before continuing. He felt like something was stuck in his throat, but at the same time he felt a little relief in telling someone about his story.

  
“After some time, I started threatening him,” he said, taking a deep breath. 

“That I would go to the police and that he would end up in prison for the rest of his life or at least for a good part of what he had left to live.   
I tried to scare him, hoping he would stop and go away, or come back to his senses,” 

a laugh escaped his lips. It sounded more like a sob, and Stiles looked away, the sad smile taking over his mouth once again. 

Jackson slowly nodded. “He didn't.” 

Stiles sighed. “He didn't. He would just laugh at me and tell me that no one could touch him, that he had power because he worked for a big company and that with money he could buy anything and anyone,”   
he bit the insides of his cheek, trying to hold back his tears while looking up at the ceiling.

“He told me the police would just laugh at me if I said his name, that I would be the one ending up on the streets with nothing. He would kick me out and take away everything I had.” 

  
“Filthy bastard,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

“And the worst thing,” Stiles went on, his voice breaking in the middle of every word, 

“-is that for the whole time I just kept thinking he didn't want to lose me and used the threats as a means to keep me with him.   
I actually still can't believe that everything he told me was a lie.   
Derek said he used me as a cover but I can't believe this,” he shook his head. 

“I know he used to love me. I could see it. I think he... he has this dark side and he made the mistake of thinking I would just accept everything he would do to me.   
He made the mistake of thinking all his lies could keep our marriage going.   
I think... I just think he's a sick man. This is what I think now,” he finally looked up to meet Jackson's eyes for the first time. 

His cheeks were red, like he felt embarrassed for what he had just confessed.

  
Jackson thought Stiles had no reason to feel ashamed, just like he had no reason to feel weak. Jackson could see how strong he really was.   
And the fact that he would still try to justify a man like Kevin Ito after all he had done, showed how pure his heart was. 

  
“But you know what, I'm feeling better and better lately,” Stiles suddenly said, showing a full smile, though a bit crooked. 

“I'm not as affected as I was before, I guess time really heals even the deepest of wounds,” he cracked a small laugh. 

Jackson slowly shook his head. “You don't need to do this.” 

Stiles blinked twice in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” 

The older man reached out to touch Stiles' face with his fingers and wiped away some tears from his cheeks. 

Stiles' eyes went wide with shock and he touched his own face in bewilderment: he hadn't realized he was crying. 

He met Jackson's eyes and noticed the softness in them. 

  
Jackson smiled, “You are strong. You don't need to strain yourself to prove other people that you are.” 

Stiles' lips curved into a pout that was meant to prevent more tears from rolling down his cheeks. He slowly nodded and wiped his face with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Thank you, Jax,” he flashed the man the best smile he could convey given the situation. Jackson looked at those curved lips and knew thise was no turning back. 

  
It was going to be a mighty fall. 

  
_...._...._

Jacob woke up to a bright light hitting his eyelids. 

Stunned, he slowly opened his eyes to find the same room he had been locked in for... how long now?   
he couldn't tell. 

Even just one day would feel too long in there. 

He looked at his wrists that were still chained to the arms of the chair. The chains looked old and rusted but he didn't try to free his hands. He didn't have the strength to even try anymore.

He regretted waking up. Unconsciousness was the only place whise he could find peace.   
The darkness of his mind was the only thing he longed for, since his reality was that of a prisoner whose rights were taken away. 

He couldn't move, eat or even go to the bathroom. He had stopped looking at himself because he was scared of what he would see, and most of the time he was left in complete blackness anyway. 

They were trying to destroy his sanity, he knew it.

  
With his eyes still not completely adjusted to the light, he saw a black figure a few meters away from his, standing in front of the closed door. 

He heard some steady steps and he recognized those immediately. Fear took over his whole being, his limbs started shaking automatically. 

  
“Well, well, well,” came the usual voice. 

Jacob felt like puking just by hearing the sound.

“You don't look as pretty anymore, what a shame,” Peter said, walking around the small room in circles. 

There was literally nothing in it except for the chair Jacob was chained into. 

“Weird, I asked the guards to take good care of you... wonder what they've been doing all this time instead.”   
Peter stopped behind his like a sudden thought had hit him. 

He made a show of brushing his chin in contemplation and smiled, “Oh wait no, actually I didn't!” 

He broke into laughter.

Jacob shivered at the sound of that sick laugh. his body hurt all over, his neck felt so sore he was actually afraid his head might be about to fall off without warning, but he still kept his face down, eyes closed, trying to not make a sound. 

Trying not to exist.

"Do you want me to call them? They looked very interested in your pretty face, you could have some fun."   
Jacob's face twisted in disgust as the sick laughter continued.

  
“How are your wounds, princess?”

Jacob's eyes widened in fear. He immediately looked at his arms and thighs and felt his head spinning when he noticed he couldn't count all the cuts and wounds scattered all over his once flawless skin. 

Some of them were slowly healing over and had formed scabs, others were completely open and had stopped bleeding not too long before. 

He looked at his legs and held back a sob. He had always considered his legs as his best asset, most of all because of his job, but now they resembled a battlefield. 

Even if he ever was to escape from that hell, he doubted his life would ever go back to normal. He couldn't be a dancer anymore, and dancing was his life. 

  
Peter strutted in front of him and knelt down, observing the scars. He noticed how some wounds were slowly healing and smiled.   
He grabbed at one long scab on Jacob's right thigh and teared it off violently. 

Jacob screamed in pain as the wound started bleeding again. He looked shocked as the blood slowly dripped down his skin and onto the floor, his eyes full of tears, his chest quickly going up and down along with his panicked breaths. 

  
“Scars are so ugly,” Peter explained, pressing his finger into the open wound and gaining another scream from the boy. 

He licked the blood from his fingertip and smirked. 

“Blood is way better,” he wiped the rest of the blood on his jacket carelessly and fished a knife out of his pockets.

Jacob started shaking his head as soon as he saw the shiny blade. 

“No... no... Please...” tears were flowing endlessly down his cheeks and his whole body was shaking so much it looked like he was having convulsions. 

But what shook him to the bones was the purest of terrors. he tried to make an eye contact with his butcher, hoping once again that would instill a spark of humanity in his heart.

What he saw in Peter's eyes was always the same: the darkest of all abysses staring back at his. Any attempt was hopeless, the figure in front of his wasn't a human being. 

  
Peter touched his soft skin, looking for an untouched spot. He found one on his left forearm and proceeded to slide his knife across his skin, opening a long, bloody wound while the boy's whole body froze in pain and he bit his lips until they started bleeding. 

he wanted to hold back another scream because he knew how much his torturer enjoyed hearing his screams.

“...KILL ME!” he suddenly blurted out.

He shook his head violently as if he could get rid of the pain that way, his eyes shut. He couldn't take the tortures anymore, it had been days now and he knew no one would come to save him. 

He didn't understand the reason behind that madness and he was going crazy. 

“I beg you, just kill me. Why are you doing this to me?!” 

  
Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He loved hearing those words. Nothing brought him a greater pleasure than hearing someone beg for their death. 

Unfortunately, this time he couldn't give in to his wishes. 

He pressed the tip of the knife against Jacob's knee and pressed a bit, just enough to see a drop of blood slowly form under the shiny blade.

Jacob swallowed hard and wondered what would be the destiny of that leg. he didn't even saw it as his leg anymore, it was simply a piece of flesh in Peter's hands. 

“I pictured ten different ways in which I could cut your pretty legs off,” Peter began, looking thoughtful. 

“In six of them you died before I could even finish my job; in other two you passed out and what's the point of doing such a funny thing if you can't witness it to the end? It's absolutely useless and not to mention, boring.   
Basically I have just two ways in which I can cut your leg off while you enjoy every second of it–” 

Jacob suddenly leaned forward and threw up on the floor, but only a bit of water came out. His stomach was empty.

Peter took some steps back with a disgusted expression. 

“You should learn some good manners, it's really impolite to interrupt someone before they're done with their speech,”   
he played with the knife he held in his hand, 

“Anyway, as I said, I only have two ways to cut your precious legs off, and believe me when I say I'm dying to do it.  
So now, why do you think I haven't done it yet?”

Jacob just looked at him with terrified eyes. He didn't dare to answer, he didn't even dare to think about an answer for that question. 

  
Peter sighed. “Isn't it obvious?!” he rolled his eyes and Jacob could swear he heard him muttering 'why am I surrounded by idiots'. 

He twirled the knife in between his fingers and looked back at Jacob.

“It's because I need you alive, princess.” 

Jacob swallowed back his own vomit, his mouth completely dry. He wanted to pass out, he really wanted to lose consciousness but his brain wouldn't let him.   
He was too scared to fall back into the darkness.

  
“W-why do you need me a-alive...?” he dared to ask. 

Peter smiled. “Have you ever gone fishing?” 

Jacob stayed silent, eyes wide in both fear and confusion now. That monster could be so random at times, he didn't understand what he was talking about half of the time.

“When you want to catch a big fish, you need a really good bait,” Peter went on. 

“The better the bait is, the faster you'll catch your favorite fish,” he smirked. 

The way his lips stretched when he smiled couldn't be described with any other word but sinister. 

“But here's the difference,” he knelt down in front of Jacob again, admiring the blood dripping down his knife. 

The boy immediately lowered his head to avoid looking at him.

“I'm a unique kind of fisherman. The best, if you ask me. And I don't have the least interest in catching stupid fihes. I fish for bastards,” his disturbing smile grew even wider.   
“And bastards require special baits.”

Realization hit Jacob like a hammer. He slowly raised his eyes again to meet his torturer's ones. 

The collar of his long coat was stained in blood and he suddenly felt like that was an ominous sign.

Peter got on his feet again and bent down to reach Jacob's right ear. he shivered and tried to get away, but of course to no avail. 

“You're my special bait, princess,” he whispered in his ear.   
Jacob could feel him smiling, though he couldn't see his face. He just knew he had his disturbing smile back on his lips. 

“You just need to hope this fish will bite. Otherwise I'll get really angry and I'll have to rip you off into really small pieces.   
You know, I'm not really good at managing my anger.   
Sorry about that.” 

Peter leaned back and slipped his knife back in his pockets. He looked at the trembling figure of the boy chained in front of him, his limbs covered in bruises, cuts and bleeding wounds, his face swollen and his eyes lost. 

He sighed. “I've been so good to you. If you only knew how lucky you are!” He gave his back to the boy and walked out of the room. 

Jacob stared at the door until darkness swallowed him whole once again.


	20. Chapter 20

The place was isolated in a remote corner of the border area, south of New York. There was a single building erected in the middle of a paved area and it stood out among the others because it had only three floors.

It looked somehow like an abandoned hospital: gray walls, mostly ruined by passing of time – but it was just a facade. 

Two men in black suits were standing in front of the glass doors at the ground floor. They looked imposing, their emotions and identities hidden behind sunglasses. 

  
“It's pure madness,” Liam said through gritted teeth, his worried eyes looking out of the window through black binoculars. 

"I agree..." Scott said from the backseat.

Derek was looking at himself in the rearview mirror of the black van they were in. 

He could barely recognize himself, not because his appearance was dramatically different from his usual one, but because he wasn't used to seeing himself dressed like that: he wore an elegant black suit, a white shirt and a black tie; at his feet, a pair of black, lucid loafers.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make it look less of a mess than usual, and adjusted the round specs on his nose. 

  
He made a weird face at his own look, before looking around and spotting the dreamy eyes of Erica pointed at him. 

“What?” He asked, sharply. 

It wasn't the first time he dressed up for a job but he was usually alone. It felt almost uncomfortable to have people judging his looks.

“You look like one of the professors I used to like back in uni,” Erica explained, excited, from the passenger seat.   
“He was a good fuck!”

Scott made a face of disgust at that. Erica had a cheeky grin on her face as she turned to him.

"You are very handsome too! Wish I had met you before... Can you were the glasses?"

Scott made a show of recoiling away from her.

"Hey back off!.. that one's mine." Liam shouted.

Scott glared at him, "Shut the fuck up Liam."

  
Liam groaned and sank a bit more in the seat, wondering for the nth time what he was even doing there, as Erica giggled.

“Am I at least getting paid for this?” He asked once more, looking outside again. 

There were two blocks of buildings facing the front side of the M-Building. The van was well-hidden between the farthest side and a series of dumpsters, but they had chosen the place carefully: it was a good observation post.

Derek turned around to look at him. “I told you to wear a suit,” he remarked, serious as ever. 

Liam brushed the sleeves of his leather jacket. Under it, he wore a white button-up and a black tie just as Derek. 

“What's wrong with my attire?” He retorted. “Where's my badge anyway?”

Erica fumbled in her pockets and fished out two plastic badges of those one could pin on a jacket. She gave one to Derek and one to Liam.

Derek looked at the rectangular-shaped object in his hand: it had the symbol of the Nogitsune on it, and a fake name with fake credentials beside that. 

It looked completely legitimate, and Derek mentally praised Kira. She was an annoying brat but she knew how to do her job. 

  
“Remember the plan,” Erica said, her index up in the air in front of her face and her big eyes focused on Derek.

“First of all you need to find the security room and plug the flash drive in the main computer. The rest is up to us.” 

Derek just nodded, he knew the plan by heart since he was the mind behind it. 

Liam didn't look as convinced. “I think there's a major hole in this plan,” he stated, immediately attracting three pair of eyes on himself.

“Why is that?” Derek pushed, not looking the least amused by Liam's remark. 

Liam waved a hand carelessly, “Oh, I don't know, maybe that they most probably know your face by now?” 

He sounded way too sarcastic for Derek's liking.

“Why do you think we're disguising ourselves?” Derek pinned the badge to his jacket.  
  
“Kevin surely has a team of his best men on me. This means they're the only ones who may have seen my file and my picture.   
There are barely any pictures of me out there in the first place, and when I first broke into their branch my face was covered.   
You can be sure they won't recognize us,” he shot a sharp glare at Liam.   
“Trust me, I've done this before.” 

  
Liam leaned forward and grabbed at the back of the front seats, an eyebrow raised. 

“You've done this before? Who do you think I am? You think it's the first time I've disguised myself for a job?” He faked indignation. 

Derek grinned. “From the way you're chickening out, I thought so,” 

"Don't you d-"

Scott let out a exasperated sigh and smacked Liam's head from his seat. "Just fucking do it!"

"Oh okay! I'm convinced! " Liam said sarcastically.

Scott rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Erica kept giggling. "You two are cute."

"Shut up..." Liam groaned for the umpteenth time.

  
Derek fixed his fake glasses one last time, took a slim, black leather briefcase from his side and eventually opened the door. 

Erica turned around, kneeling on the soft pad of the front seat, and looked at Liam with a smile. 

“It's time to go,” she announced brightly. 

Liam's lips curled – he really didn't get that girl. How could she be so relaxed in a situation like that?

“Mmh,” he mumbled, pinning the badge to his leathis jacket and getting off the car. 

He turned to look at Scott.  
"Okay, here I go.. if I die in there I'll be thinking of you whe-"

"Just fucking go already!" 

"Wow.... such love.." Liam groaned and turned back to face the building. 

Derek was waiting in front of the van, leaning back against the black shining hood, the briefcase under his arm and both his hands in his pockets.   
His sharp jaw was tense, as well as the rest of his face, while he looked at the direction of the M-building. 

  
Liam could tell he was worried, but he also knew it wasn't exactly for Jacob or for the plan in general. 

Actions like those - they were something Derek was used to.

Meeting ghosts was a totally different matter.

“Ready for the show?” He jokingly poked into his side to gain the older's attention. Derek just briefly nodded and they both headed to the building.

  
There were around 400 meters between their hideout and the main entrance, and the whole area in front of it was under the dim light of the sunset. 

Too exposed. 

The two men wanted to delay their appearance as long as possible so they walked around the first block of buildings and slipped into a narrow street that ended up exactly in front of the paved area.

“Slower now,” Derek whispered as they came out of the alley. 

“Head up. Steady steps. Show confidence.” 

Liam immediately straightened his back and raised his chin, eyes fixed on the men across the square. 

The guards stiffened as soon as they acknowledged their presence. They slipped their hands under their jackets, clearly reaching for their guns.

Derek fixed his glasses with confidence, the briefcase held tightly in his hand. Liam followed suit, their steps quick but measured.

  
“Identify yourselves,” one of the guards held the palm of his hand in front of them. Derek pointed at the badge on his jacket with nonchalance, his features as cold as a stone. 

“I'm agent Smith, he's agent Davis. The headquarters sent us to check on the security system.   
We're doing a patrol around all the branches in this district.   
After the recent break in, the system needs an update – but I'm sure you know already.” His voice didn't falter not even once and he kept staring at both guards in the eye.

The two men looked at their badges with suspicious eyes. Liam swallowed hard and tried his best to keep a poker face. 

_He's so fucking convincing,_ he thought while looking at Derek's back, _how the fuck does he do that?_

  
One of the guards looked down at his own badge and then at Derek's one again. The hitman wanted to roll his eyes.

 _Yes, they're exactly the same, you damn idiot,_ he thought, keeping his straight face. 

Kira is the best at her job, so it's useless to look for flaws.

“We've already had a check-up on the security system,” one of the guards finally said. They now looked more amused than suspicious. Like a cat that's about to catch the mouse. They looked at both men, waiting to analyze their reaction. 

_Fuck fuck fuck_ , was Liam's only thought, though his features remained as cold as ice.   
_We're screwed, we're fucking screwed, better get my hands on the gu-_

  
“Of course,” Derek replied, without flinching. He opened his briefcase and took out some papers. “That was the preliminary check-up.  
We're here to finally install the update.” 

He shoved the papers in front of both men. They had the stamp of the organization on top of them. The guards were taken aback. One of them stole a glance at the papers but didn't make any move to take them. They still didn't look convinced though. 

Derek put the papers back in his briefcase and sighed, pushing the glasses up on his nose. Liam recognized the gestures as part of the perfect act Derek was putting up.

“We understand the situation is risky and you sure have your orders to follow,” he began. Then he reduced his voice to a whisper.

“We're also aware of the guests you currently have here,” he lowered his chin and raised an eyebrow, looking at the man from that low angle with a knowing look on his face.   
The guards shared a nervous glance. 

“That's why the boss personally asked to start with this branch in particular,” he cleared his throat and fixed the briefcase under his arm. 

“We'll just go back to the headquarters to report the issue so the boss can set the matter personally.” he turned back.

“Wait.” The reply came almost immediately. Both hitmen already had their backs on the guards but the nervousness in the man's voice made them freeze on the spot. 

Liam was the first to turn around and he spotted the sly, victorious smirk on Derek's lips. He looked terrifying, like a beast that finally had its claws on the prey.

Liam felt a shiver running up his spine at the sight. The smirk on Derek's lips was gone as soon as he turned around again. 

“We'll show you the way,” the man said. 

He was slightly taller than the other guard and had lighter hair. He turned around and placed himself in front of the eye-scanner that showed the reflection of his eye. 

A blue bar slowly scrolled down the screen and when it reached the bottom, they heard a loud beep and the screen changed to a green one that said **ACCESS GRANTED**.

The glass doors opened and the men stepped inside the building, followed by Derek and Liam. There was another glass door after just a couple of meters with another eye-scanner but the guards stopped before it and turned to face the men. 

“What's wrong–” Liam began but before he could finish the sentence, he already had the hands of one of the guards touching his waist. 

Derek let the briefcase drop on the floor and raised both arms to let the man pat him down quicker. Liam was side-eyeing him with a nervous expression on his face, but Derek just nodded, quietly telling him to let them do what they wanted.

  
It didn't take long for the guards to find the weapons hidden inside their belts. Two fully loaded Glock pistols were taken away from them in a matter of seconds.

The taller guard shifted his gaze from the guns to the men. “Since when do the technicians need guns?”

Derek flashed a sly smile, his arms still raised and his whole attitude extremely relaxed. “Is there someone in our organization who doesn't?” 

He knew they were not going to suspect them just because of the weapons.  
It was just natural for someone working for The Nogitsune to have a gun always with them, and if they really thought of them as a possible threat they would have already killed them.

“We can't let you in with these,” the guard insisted.

“It's okay, take them. We won't need them for this kind of job anyway,” Derek replied, attempting a laugh. 

Liam never had the chance to see Derek disguising himself on the field and he had to admit he looked like a completely different person. It was shocking to witness, even for him.

_He's too good at this,_ he thought, wondering why he even worried in the first place. They were basically inside already. 

The guards nodded at each other and slipped the Glock pistols inside their belts, before finally unlocking the second glass door. 

As soon as he stepped inside the wide corridor, Derek immediately spotted the various cameras hanging from every corner. They were the same color as the walls and very small, so it was hard to spot them for an untrained eye. 

He cleared his throat quietly, but Liam had his eyes on him in a split second. Derek nodded at the cameras and lowered his head to hide his face as much as possible. 

Liam did the same and they followed the men quietly.

  
“Are you inside?” ringed a voice inside Derek's head. Their earbuds were small and transparent, pretty much invisible if one didn't take a close look inside their ears. 

Derek simply tapped on the earbud once, annoyed at the stupid question. How was he supposed to answer Erica with the guards walking a meter ahead of them? 

“Ohh, I guess you can't answer now,” Erica went on, chuckling. “Kira's here. We are getting everything ready, just tell me when you're done.”

Derek tapped on the earbud again, making it look like he was simply rubbing his ear and keeping an eye on the men in front of them. 

Their backs were perfectly straight and their steps quick. 

“Those guards looked really handsome, are they like that even up-close? Ahh, I wish I was there!”

Derek noticed Liam rolling his eyes at Erica's words. The kid really had no limits to her obsession. 

Derek wondered if she really was unable to feel any kind of fear even in that situation or if she was just pretending to be as bright as always.  
Sometimes he really thought Erica was suited for her job, she could be cold-blooded and showed no particular emotion whatsoever, except her endless thirst for sex.   
Which, indeed, could be a problem if she really was to take the hitman path.

  
“here.” 

Derek quickly shook those stupid thoughts out of his head and noticed they had stopped in front a closed door.   
The sign on it told them it was the Control Room, the room whise they kept all the main computers that were in charge of the security system.

“We'll be here when you're done,” said the guard with darker hair. They were still eyeing them suspiciously but Derek didn't care anymore. 

They were inside, they had made it.

  
They both entered the dark room, closing the door behind them. It was small and totally bare except for a wide desk that took the whole width of room.   
On the desk were several big computer screens, and behind those, the various system units and speakers. 

Sitting at the desk was a man with a light blue button-down shirt and black pants.   
A black band around his arm showed the usual Fox logo. He looked like a policeman.   
He was short and podgy, certainly not an action man nor a computer geek. He probably was there just to keep an eye on the security cameras.

  
He turned around when he heard the sound of the door and looked surprised in seeing the two tall men.

“Headquarters sent their best nerds again?” He laughed with a raspy voice, probably the result of too many cigarettes, judging from the congested ashtray on the desk. 

He coughed twice and stood up, inviting the men to take a look at the screens. Derek walked slowly to the desk and fished out a metallic USB from his pocket. 

The man eyed his every movement with curiosity, spying over Derek's shoulder to see what he was doing. 

“Do you need me to do something?” He asked, clearly as a rhetorical question. 

Derek plugged the device in and turned around, showing his best disturbing smile. 

“Actually, yes.” The man waited for him to go on, but instead he heard a different voice whispering in his ear.  
“Just _sleep_ ,” 

Liam wrapped one arm around the man's neck, covering his mouth with a handkerchief to suppress his wheezing.   
He kept a strong hold on him for a good whole minute until he passed out. He dragged the unconscious man to the wall and left him there, with his back against it. 

“Done,” Derek said, tapping on his earbud. 

“Gimme five minutes.” 

“I don't think we have five minutes,” Liam replied, nodding at the door. The guards could potentially burst in any moment now. 

Derek gave him the once-over.

“Remove your jacket,” he said, ignoring Liam's words. He started removing his own soon after. Liam raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

Derek threw his jacket at him, after removing the badge. 

“You need to pretend to be one of the front guards, you can't dress like that. I told you to wear a suit,” he remarked angrily.

Liam removed his leather jacket with a frown and wore Derek's one after giving his own to the older hitman. 

“I thought I was going to come up with you?”

“You're not,” Derek replied, sternly. “You need to stay down hise and wait for instructions.” 

  
His words made his partner frown even more.

“Why do you keep all the fun to yourself?” He asked accusingly.

Just then, Kira's voice filled both their ears.

“Done. I'm in their security system. The cameras are all out, you can go.” 

Derek tapped on his earbud and looked at Liam with sharp eyes, nodding towards the door. 

Liam sighed, fixing the jacket of his suit and craning his neck. 

“Show time.” 

He walked out of the door, where the guards were still waiting. They looked at him with questioning eyes.

“Is it done?” One of them asked, eyeing Liam's jacket suspiciously. They surely remembered it was different from his original one.

“Almost,” Liam replied with a smile, before throwing a punch in the taller man's face, knocking him out on the spot.   
He quickly bowed to avoid the other man's blow and used that position to strike back, hitting him hard in the guts and making him double up in pain. 

Liam straightened up and used his knee to smash his face and knock him out definitely. He was done with both men in a matter of seconds. 

Derek opened the door when he heard silence again and looked at the men on the ground. 

He smirked, “Nice.” 

Liam took back their guns from the men's waists and shrugged. 

“I'm not the best streetfighter for nothing,” he gave one Glock pistol to Derek showing his goofy smile, then they dragged both bodies inside the room. 

“Just take some wires, they'll do,” Derek said, putting the three unconscious men together and covering their mouths with some tape he found in the desk drawer.   
He knew the man must have had some tape to quickly fix any damage while he waited for the technicians. 

Liam went to the small locker near the desk and found a set of new wires on the lowest Helf. He was surprised. 

“How did you know they had some?” 

He brought the wires to Derek who started wrapping them tight around the three bodies, tying them together. 

The hitman smirked. “Do you think it's the first time I see this kind of room?” 

He was done within a couple of minutes. 

“They probably won't wake up before an hour or so anyway,” he looked at Liam. “Hopefully we'll be out of here by then.” His voice got lower and his expression grew darker.

A moment later they walked out of the room, locking the men in.

“You stay here and wait,” Derek instructed, his eyes saying ' _don't move and don't fuck up'_.

Liam grabbed his arm before Derek could even turn his back on him. 

“Derek!” 

The hitman looked back at him. Liam's expression was a mix of many emotions, and one of them was certainly worry. 

Derek didn't like what he was seeing. He didn't want anyone to worry about him or to even care about him.   
His field of work was one from which he just couldn't possibly come out alive at the end of the games, and he didn't want to plant the seed of sorrow and grief in the heart of anyone.

  
“Are you sure you can go alone? Peter...” 

“Just stay here and wait,” Derek immediately cut him off, making a move so as to turn his back on him again.

He changed his mind just a moment after and faced Liam once more, staring at him for what felt like an eternity for the younger man. 

He eventually smirked and messed Liam's hair up in a gesture that he used to do back when they were kids.   
Liam remembered it well because he hated it, but now it felt different and he couldn't hate it anymore. 

“You did a good job,” Derek said, his voice getting a warm tone. 

Liam didn't know what a father sounded like, but if he had to imagine a fatherly voice, it would be the one Derek had just used with him.

The hitman turned his back on him and walked towards the elevator. 

Liam looked at his back getting further and further away from him and got a really ominous feeling in his guts. He clenched his fists and muttered under his breath.

  
“...Don't say things that sound like a goodbye, for fuck's sake.” 

  
_...._...._

"Yukimura.” 

Kira jolted out of her thoughts, her fingers stopping on the keyboard. She fixed her earphones and the microphone hanging in front of her mouth. 

She was sitting in the back of the van, with Erica. Scott was in the passenger seat .  
The laptop she was working on was placed on a low, folding table and the screen was exactly in front of her eyes.

She frowned. “Why did you call me that?”

“Why not?” Derek replied, and Kira just knew he was grinning. 

She checked the cameras one by one until she found the one where Derek was. He was in front of a glass door which had another eye-scanner incorporated in the doorframe. On the other side, the elevator Derek needed to take. 

  
“Well hello Mr. Hitman,” Kira chirped, smirking. “Nice jacket.” 

Derek looked at his leather jacket – actually, Liam's one – and then at the camera over him, realising Kira was watching him. 

He smirked and showed his badge to the camera.

“Ah yes, I see you're a legit agent of the organization,” Kira chuckled.

“You can pass,” 

She typed briefly on the keyboard and the door opened in front of Derek. She followed Derek as he walked to the elevator and got in the small cabin. 

He pressed himself against the wall and pushed a button Kira couldn't see. 

“Are there any more scanners on the third floor?”

Kira quickly checked the few cameras on the top floor.

“No...” she furrowed her eyebrows. “Actually there's barely anything on the top floor except for the room you know.”

“Good, this will make things easier. You can go now.”

Kira leaned back against the wall of the van and sighed. 

“Derek... are you sure of this? It's really dangerous,” she bit her lower lip. “What if you don't–” 

“When everything's done, don't wait for me. I'll get out of here on my own. Understand?” 

  
Kira saw him stepping out of the elevator without hesitation. She sighed and took off her earphones, closing the laptop with a powerful slap. 

She ran a hand through her hair and bit her lips once more. It was time for what might be the most dangerous part of her job. 

She looked at Erica who nodded her head, a nervous look on her face.

"It's going to be fine." She reassured before getting up and wearing her 'war outfit' as she would call it.

A bulletproof vest, first of all. She had to carry a gun with her as well, but she wasn't really accustomed to use it so she hoped there would be no need for it. 

She took her own fake badge, wore a black bandana and baseball hat to hide her hair then got out of the van with a black bag, walking quickly around the block of buildings and reaching the paved area with heavy steps.

  
“Liam,” she called, her eyes moving frantically in every direction to make sure she was alone. The reply came almost immediately in her earbud. 

  
“The first floor is clear.” 

“No one has showed up yet?” 

“No,” he hesitated. “It's actually weird. I don't think they have many people in here, but I don't understand why.”

Kira smiled sadly for maybe the first time in a long while. 

“It's like Derek said. It's a trap. Peter is probably waiting for him.”

“I still think we should go and help him out–”

“No, let's stick to the plan. Derek knows what he's doing and anyway there's not much we can do without worsening his situation,” she sighed, finally reaching the glass doors.

  
She typed a four numbered code into the eye-scanner and they opened without a sound. 

It was a reset code only the manufacturer of that particular security system would know, but Danny had managed to find it out through his hacking. 

That building had no secrets for her. She fixed her hat and saw Liam waiting in the corridor. 

She reached him and nodded.  
“Let's trust Derek,” she just said, tightening her grip on the black bag.

“I'm going up now. See you later. Be careful.”

Liam just nodded. “You too.” 

Kira flashed him a smile and walked away.

Liam kept his eyes on her for a while, then he looked down at his semiautomatic and took the safety off. 

Kira pushed the heavy metallic door open and was immediately pushed back by the strong wind.

_Great_.., she thought, rolling her eyes and making a first step on the gray concrete of the rooftop.

She walked to the far right side and put the black bag down, then opened it and took out the blueprint of the third floor - which was right under her feet, probably just sixty centimeters of hard concrete separating the two. 

She fished out his gun and used it as paperweight to prevent the paper from flying away. 

Kira took a closer look at the print: she needed to find the right point. She already knew all the papers by heart for she had spent many hours studying them, but she still had doubts about that one.

“ _It's out of my control. I can predict only part of what could happen.”_

_“It's enough.”_

_“No, it isn't. Derek, it can be potentially lethal for the both of you. Besides, how can you be sure that he–”_

_“I'll make sure he's in the right place at the right time. You saw the blueprints. It's risky, but not impossible.”_

_“Still, if we could find another way...”_

_“There's no other way. It's the only way I could get out of thise alive.”_

_“...Or dead.”_

_“Or dead_.” 

Kira sighed, folding the blueprint and pushing it back in the bag. She then took out a black box, almost as big as the bag it was in and quite heavy. 

She looked at it for a while, a worried frown all over her features.

  
“I hope you know what you're doing, Derek.” 

  
_...._...._

Stiles woke up to the sound of rock music playing quietly in the background, but still slightly resonating on the walls of the storehouse. 

It wasn't unpleasant and certainly not loud enough to wake him up. 

He guessed he had just slept enough. He was lying on his cot under three layers of heavy blankets in only a white tee and boxers. 

He had fallen in a deep slumber the night before, right after dinner, and had a long, dreamless sleep. He had no idea what time it was, but the sun was shining bright outside the storehouse so he guessed it was late in the morning. 

  
He tried to locate the source of the music and noticed a small stereo placed on the ground a few meters away from him. It was old and full of dust but seemed to work perfectly. 

Beside it, Jackson was working out. He was lifting weights that looked twice as heavy as Stiles' body. 

He was shirtless and – not to mention – completely soaked in sweat. His expression was rigid as he worked on both arms alternately. 

Stiles already had a leg out of the blankets but he quietly pulled it back and rested his head on the pillow again. He decided that watching the scene a bit longer without being noticed wouldn't hurt a fly. 

Jackson didn't seem to notice his quiet movements as he kept working on his muscles with some heavy metal music in the background. 

Stiles didn't know if it was a radio station or a CD, but he thought the music totally fitted Jackson's style. 

His throat suddenly felt really dry, maybe not only because of his long sleep. He felt almost guilty for looking at the hitman like that but it wasn't like he could just get up and face the man. It would be awkward. 

Besides, that scene reminded him of something else... 

_Stiles walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his neck, sloppily brushing his hair in a lazy attempt to make it dry faster._

_He had woken up earlier than ever that day, something he never did. He had some bad nightmares that had taken away all his will to sleep longer._   
_So he just went to take a long, relaxing shower first thing in the morning._

_The room's temperature was always extremely warm - though one couldn't say it from the appearance of it - reason why he could walk around in a tee and pants most of the time without feeling too cold._

_He was humming some random song as he stepped into the living room, when suddenly he heard a sound that made his stomach squirm in both fear and excitement._

_There was a steel pole embedded horizontally in the door frame of Derek's room, around two meters from the floor._

_The hitman had his hands wrapped around it and was lifting himself up and down, his legs crossed so that his arms would do all the work._

  
_If Stiles had been holding onto something, anything, he would have probably dropped it without even realizing. His mouth became immediately dry and threatened to fall open in surprise, but luckily enough he managed to hold himself back from doing something so embarrassing._

_Derek wore his usual sweatpants that didn't leave much to Stiles' imagination and a white tank top that might as well be called 'Derek's second skin' because that was how it looked on the hitman's body anyway._

_The tank top was half-soaked in sweat, hundreds of small drops rolling down the golden skin of his arms, shoulders, neck and face as well._

_Stiles felt his eyes starting to sting and realized he had forgotten to blink for a long time, too focused on the view in front of him._

_He blinked twice, wiped his eyes with the towel and pressed it against his mouth as he approached the man who was still working on his arms without pause._

  
_“Morning...” he murmured against the towel, wishing he could just take a picture of the scene and keep it for future use._

_Derek opened his eyes – he had been keeping them close as the sweat rolled down his face profusely and some of those drops ended up being caught in his long eyelashes – and smirked, as he lifted himself non-stop._

_“I was wondering how much longer you were going to stand there like a statue,” he said, amused._

_He was breathless and his voice sounded even rougher than usual, probably because of the exertion._

_Stiles felt his face burning in shame. Of course Derek would hear even the faintest sound and was well aware he was there since the very moment he had stepped out of the bathroom._

  
_“I was... I was surprised. I never saw you working out before...?” he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion._

_Derek let his feet touch the floor again, abandoning the pole and cracking his sore shoulders and neck in a gesture that Stiles could only define as 'extremely erotic'._

_“I work out everyday while you sleep,” was Derek's answer as he wiped his hands on his sweatpants._

_“You usually sleep more soundly in the morning,” he added with a grin._

_Stiles didn't know why every word from Derek made him blush but it was a fact that it did._   
_Or maybe it was that damn lustful grin that seemed to never leave his lips._

_Either way, the redness on his cheeks didn't seem to fade._

_“I was wondering how you kept so fit,” he laughed nervously, trying to change the subject._

  
_He looked at the pole over Derek's head._

_“So apart from lifting yourself, what else can you do?” he smiled mockingly, trying to regain a bit of sassiness._

_Derek stared at him with an unreadable look on his face, noticing the wet hair and the flustered look Stiles was trying hard to hide._

_He covered the small distance between them in a couple of steps and grabbed the boy by his waist, lifting him up like he was made of air._

_Stiles grasped at Derek's arms and held back his breath in surprise._   
_His feet were one meter from the floor and from there, he was literally towering over Derek._   
_He looked down to meet the man's eyes and found a black pair of irises staring back at him, almost piercing through his heart._

_“I can do this,” Derek finally answered, but without any grin this time. He was as serious as ever and Stiles didn't know whether to feel uncomfortable or excited._

_There was only one thing he wanted more than anything right in that moment and it was feeling Derek closer to him. The sight of his handsome face, his body, his strong hold were all pleasant, but not enough to satisfy Stiles' cravings._

_Before he knew it, he was gently cupping both of Derek's cheeks with his palms, as to make sure he wouldn't break the moment._

_Derek slowly lowered the boy, just enough for their faces to get closer and closer until he could reach Stiles' lips with his own._   
_He waited until Stiles closed his eyes and his lips curved in a small smirk at the sight._

_He wanted that moment as much as Stiles._

_Their parted lips met with the delicacy of a butterfly fluttering its wings, their mouths slowly finding the way to fit together perfectly._

_Derek's hold on Stiles' waist only became stronger, the boy could feel his possessiveness and that only made him want to kiss Derek harder._   
_He nibbled at his lips like he would do with something enticing, tasting the bitter flavor of black coffee as his wet hair gently brushed the sweaty face of the hitman._

_Derek eventually put him down again, but he wasn't ready to let him go: he wrapped one arm around the boy's waist and held him closer to his chest._

_“Do you mind?” He asked, brushing his lips against Stiles' because he couldn't allow himself to part from that soft mouth, not even for a moment._

_Stiles knew he was referring to his half-wet tank top but he honestly couldn't care less. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and barely shook his head in reply, his only focus being Derek's lips and how well they were covering his mouth._

  
_Derek growled and brought both hands behind Stiles' thighs, lifting him up again only to have him wrap his legs around his waist._   
_Stiles decided to ignore the way every single inch of his body was brushing against Derek's because he knew the thought could easily overwhelm him and make him lose his mind._

_He was the first to ask for access this time. Derek parted his lips wider and let Stiles do what he wanted, sliding his tongue in – hesitantly at first, and then with increasing lust._

_Derek assaulted his ips back without any restraint, both of their mouths getting wet and swollen in the process._   
_Stiles realized he wanted that man too much to put it into words._

_He sighed, his cold skin shivering in pleasure at Derek's warm touch. His fingers found their way through the black locks of the hitman, brushing and pulling at them following the heat of the moment._

_He knew Derek wanted more, he could feel it in the way he was devouring him alive and in the way he was holding him against his body._   
_He could feel how much the man wanted to make Stiles his, and the thought was making his stomach squirm in pleasure._

  
_Breathless, he tried to catch some air in between their needy kisses, his mouth open on Derek's one as there were no boundaries or delicacy anymore._

_He wanted him, he wanted Derek. He had never been more sure of something in his whole life. He decided he was going to get up early from now on._

Stiles opened his eyes wide and found himself staring at the ceiling of the storehouse. He was sweating and his whole body felt extremely hot. 

His head was dizzy and he wasn't sure whether he had fallen asleep again or he was just daydreaming, lost in those bittersweet memories.

He suddenly felt very sad, but he absolutely didn't want to show it. He ran both hands over his tired face and stayed like that for a while, pressing his fingertips against his eyelids until he started seeing a million white dots in the darkness. 

  
He sighed and let his arms fall at the sides of his head, looking at the ceiling again without really seeing it. 

He unconsciously licked his lips, but there was no taste of black coffee on them. He cracked a smile at his own pitiful self, and that was when he realized he didn't hear the music anymore.

  
He got up and looked around, feeling his messy locks fall in front of his eyes. Jackson was fully clothed again and was setting up some targets. 

On the box they were using as kitchen table were two cups of rice, both full.   
Stiles smiled at the realization that the man was waiting for him to wake up before having his meal. 

He decided to cut short his waiting and finally stood up, slipping his feet in his white sneakers. He walked to the hitman and gently patted his back. 

“Hey” 

Jackson turned around and smiled as soon as his eyes laid on the boy. 

“Tired, huh?”

Stiles shrugged. “I'm not used to working out, my bad,” he laughed. 

Jackson noticed the pale skin and the bags under his eyes. 

“Indeed, you worked out enough. We're moving on to the next level today,” he patted Stiles' back awkwardly before glancing at the rice still in place. “But first, what about having a quick lunch?” 

  
Stiles looked at the targets Jackson was setting up.

They were black and all shaped with a man's silhouette. On the black surface, there were various circles painted in white - the further away from the center, the wider they got. 

Theree were also some dots painted here and there: on the forehead, chest, shoulders, lower abdomen and arms.   
Some were bigger, some were smaller; the ones on the forehead and chest were red, the others white. 

“Shooting targets,” he murmured, turning around and grabbing Jackson's arm.

The man looked at him with a frown. Stiles had a hopeful look on his face. 

“Are we training with guns today?” 

Jackson stiffened a bit but nodded. “Yeah...” he wasn't particularly happy and he wasn't doing anything to hide it. 

“I think you're ready.” 

Stiles' face lit up and he let go of Jackson's arm. 

Finally, the exciting part. After that first introduction to what was going to be his first weapon, Stiles had thought Jackson would teach him how to shoot right away. 

Instead, they had spent the first few days working out and doing hand-to-hand combat, which was of course useful but not what Stiles was expecting from that training. 

It had been intense but he had spent the whole time wondering when they would finally get to the weapons. 

  
His face must have been like an open book because when he was jolted out of his thoughts, Jackson was looking at him with a mocking smile. 

“What? I'm just excited, okay?” He crossed his arms and pouted. 

Jackson held back a laugh. 

“I can see that,” he brushed some locks of soft hair from Stiles' face. 

“But first, let's eat something. You'll need all your energy for today's training.” 

Stiles tried to ignore the weird way his belly had warmed up at Jackson's touch. It was completely different from the way he would feel when Derek was the one touching him, but it wasn't unpleasant, and that only added up to the already big mess that was his heart. 

But that was no time to reflect upon his feelings. He just nodded and followed the hitman in silence. 

  
_...._...._

It was a plain steel door. No decoration or sign on it.   
It was impressive in height and width, way bigger than the other doors in the building, but that was pretty much the only unusual thing about it.

Derek stared at it for some moments. He knew that was the room he was looking for. It was the only room on that floor, and the only one in the whole building with a door like that. 

  
He looked back at the corridor he had just walked through: that whole floor looked like a well organized cage. There was no way out except for the elevator on the other side. 

He glanced at the door again and tried turning the doorknob, just to confirm what he already knew: it was locked. 

There was no code or security system – it probably only worked with an old-fashioned key.

Derek smirked. As expected, Peter was smarter than all the men of the organization put together. 

He knew technology could be useful, but also very dangerous. He wondered if he was on the other side of that door, in that room, waiting for Derek. 

But then again, Peter was the type to enjoy surprises more than waiting. 

_Too much thinking_ , he told himself, fishing his semiautomatic out, _I have to hurry up._

  
He shot the lock a couple of times, since there was no other way. He didn't have anything with him to force the door open and usually a gun would do the job perfectly anyway. 

He pushed the heavy door open and noticed how the light coming from the corridor threw his shadow across the floor. The room was in complete darkness. 

Derek blindly looked for a switch beside the door and as soon as the powerful neons lightened the room, he immediately spotted the lonely figure at the center of it. 

  
A young man was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. The chair was nailed down to the floor, which showed dark stains of dried blood and a whole series of other trails – Derek could only imagine what those were. 

his wrists and ankles were tightly wrapped to the arms and legs of the chair with old, rusty chains.

He seemed not to notice the light nor Derek's presence in the room. his head was down and his long, dirty hair covered all of it. 

They were cut short at some points, while other locks seemed burned. In short, his head was a mess. 

But not a mess as big and frightening as his limbs. his arms and legs were covered in cuts, burns, holes – so many different marks and wounds that Derek couldn't even recognize them all. 

Some of those were still slightly bleeding. It looked like someone had used his as a piece of meat for some kind of target practice. 

It looked like the work of some mad butcher and it was just horrible to see. Derek could barely bear the sight and he certainly wasn't an oversensitive man.

 _Shit_ , was his first thought, _it's too late, He's dead_. 

He should've known better. If one left Peter with a new toy, it wouldn't take long before he would completely ruin it.  
It was what he enjoyed the most in his life – taking the lives of others in the cruelest way possible. 

  
Derek put his gun away and approached the still figure with careful steps. 

His mind was racing: _was he really dead? He probably was._

_What was he going to do now?_

He couldn't possibly drag his body out of there,   
but he also couldn't just leave his like that. 

The plan had failed. What was he going to say to Boyd? 

_There was no way to tell him without causing him a mental breakdown, or worse._

  
He leaned down, trying to see his face under the cascade of dark hair.   
He didn't want to touch him, it didn't feel right. It was also his fault if that young man had died. 

It was right then that he heard a low sob. Or so it seemed. 

He took a step back and watched his whole figure, but didn't notice any movement. He wasn't even sure if he had actually heard something, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. 

Still, he decided to wait in silence for a while, hoping for another sign that could tell him the boy was still alive. 

He didn't have to wait long. The boy's body suddenly shivered, and He let out another small sob. 

  
“Please...” his voice was so weak, Derek could barely hear his words even if he was right in front of him.

“Please, stop...” a long, shaky breath. “Just kill me... I beg you...” 

  
Derek's lips became a tight line. He leaned down again and brushed some hair away from his face, trying to meet his eyes.   
The boy flinched at the contact and pulled back, his body shaking all over. 

“Jacob,” Derek said, his voice low and warm. He had to try his best to reassure him, even if it wasn't his specialty. 

Jacob realized the voice wasn't the one He had heard for days, the voice that made his want to throw up just by hearing it. 

This voice was raw and deep, and had something familiar in it but He couldn't quite get why. 

He slowly raised his face to meet the stranger's gaze.   
Derek held his breath at the sight of the marks on his face – Peter hadn't spared that either, but luckily they didn't seem too deep. 

His beautiful, dark eyes were swollen and full of tears, but they still had that spark in them. 

The spark of life. 

Derek met Jacob's eyes and knew there was still a small hope for him. 

Jacob studied Derek's features with wide, scared eyes. Certainly the cold features of the hitman weren't reassuring, but the way Derek was looking at his was telling Jacob he wasn't there to hurt his. 

Also, somewhere in a remote corner of his memory, He had the feeling He had already met the man.   
His memories were all confused and mostly broken by now, as well as everything else inside of him. 

There were many black holes in his mind, just as many as those that were in his heart.   
Peter had managed to destroy a big part of his being through his merciless tortures. 

Still, Derek's face looked familiar. 

He tried hard to focus on the small part of his mind that was still somehow clear and parted his dry, trembling lips with difficulty. 

“...B-Boyd's... friend...?” was all He could come up with. 

Derek slowly nodded, relieved. 

“I'm getting you out of here,” he quickly untied his legs and arms, and helped his stand up. 

Jacob fell down as soon as Derek brought him to his feet. After all those days without food and water, always being tied up to that chair, He couldn't feel his legs anymore. 

  
Derek knew they couldn't waste any more time. He slipped one arm under his knees and the other behind his back, lifting his up in his arms with as much carefulness as possible. 

Jacob wrapped his trembling arms around Derek's neck and sobbed on his shoulder. Derek held him tighter, realizing how light He was. 

It reminded him of Stiles and the thought made him stiffen a bit. They needed to get out of there as soon as possible. 

“Liam.” 

The reply came immediately. 

“Derek? Where are you?”

Derek ignored the question. 

“I'm bringing the boy down, He's wounded.   
You need to get him out and get away from here. Bring him to Scott, He needs medications and–”

  
Jacob's scream interrupted the communication, jolting Derek out of the conversation. 

He was suddenly shaking all over, his eyes set on something that was over Derek's shoulders.   
He was frightened to death. 

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling the same air slowly soon after. He put Jacob down, who could barely stand on his feet and kept leaning on him, then he turned around. 

He already knew what – or better, who – to expect. 

  
“Well, well, well,” said Peter, leaning on the door frame with his arms crossed and a smirk on his lips. 

“At last, you showed up,” he looked at Derek for a long moment, memorizing every feature of the man standing in front of him. After all it's been years. 

He then noticed the shaking figure of Jacob behind him. 

“Told you I'm the best fisherman, didn't I?” 

He flashed his his disturbing smile and Jacob just hid more behind Derek's wide back. 

  
“He has nothing to do with us and you know this,” Derek replied, dull. “Let me get him out of here and then we can settle this between us.”

Peter walked into the room, his hands crossed behind his back, his steps long and steady – even the awkward way he was walking told Derek how much he was having fun with them. 

He wore a long blue coat over light jeans and black combat boots. His style hasn't changed during those years, nothing about him seemed to have changed, Derek noticed. 

Not even his heart or his sick mind.

“Why should I do that, though? I could just kill him instead,”  
Peter replied, pretending to be thinking about something.  
“You seem to like it a lot when I do that,” the irony in his voice was too much. 

Derek was slowly losing his patience but his priority was getting the boy out of there.

He wouldn't be able face Peter properly if he had to watch over him. 

  
“Can you walk?” He whispered, without removing his eyes from Peter who seemed to be walking around the perimeter of the room like a vulture.

Jacob wasn't really sure but he knew he had to try. 

“I-I think so...” He whispered back. 

“There's an elevator at the end of the corridor, you need to take that and go down to the ground floor.   
A man named Liam is waiting for you there. He will take you out of here,” he said quickly. 

Then he raised his voice, “We both know you don't need the boy, but killing someone in a rush is not your style.” 

Peter's attention was all on Derek again. 

The hitman smirked, “And we both know you want me, and we have a huge outstanding balance to settle,” he went on. “So just let him go, that way you can pursue your revenge till the end.”

Peter knew Derek was trying to trick him into freeing the boy but he actually didn't care. 

Nothing Derek had said was wrong: he didn't care about the kid and didn't have time nor will to get rid of him. 

His main target was Derek. 

It had always been Derek.

  
“Get lost,” he said, waving a hand towards the door without even looking at them. 

Jacob was shocked. 

_Just like that? A couple of words from that Derek and the psycho was letting him go?_

He looked at the man in front of him, his wide shoulders looked like they had to bear the weight of the whole world on them. 

_Who was that Derek exactly and what kind of power did he have on Peter?_

  
“Run,” Derek whispered. “Don't look back.” 

Jacob knew it was his only chance to come out of it alive. He didn't know who he had saved in his previous life to be so lucky, but he was not going to let Derek's efforts go to waste.

His legs soon started moving on their own. He was sure he could not lift even a single finger just five minutes before, but now his body was automatically dragging him out of that hell, one step at a time. 

He could not run, but as soon as he saw the bright lights of the corridor, he knew he was just a few steps away from his freedom. 

He was almost out of that nightmare and his body seemed to forget all the hurt and the pain right in that moment. 

It was like he was blind to his own agony, he could just see the path in front of him, adrenaline and hope the only two things pushing him forward.

He reached the elevator on the other end of the corridor with difficulty and was almost on his knees by the time the doors opened in front of him. 

  
He dragged his body inside and barely managed to push the ground floor button before sliding down the nearest wall until he sat on the floor. 

Only then did his body seemed to relax enough to let the pain drown him once again, until he passed out. 

All he could sense after that was reduced to the changing of lightings around him and some movements. 

At some point, He had strong arms around his body, and someone lifted him up from the floor. 

He hoped it wasn't someone ready to hurt him because he didn't have a bit of strength left to fight anymore. 

All his fears were dissolved when He heard a low, reassuring voice in his ear. 

“You're safe now,” the stranger was breathing on his face, He could smell something that resembled a mint flavor.   
He hadn't smelled anything but his own blood for days, that smell was a proof to him that he was still alive.

“Lee... Lin...” He tried, yet failing. His eyes felt heavy but he managed to look at the stranger through his long eyelashes. 

He had strong features and warm eyes. He really felt safe.

“It's Liam, now rest,” he was holding him tightly against his chest and was bringing him somewhise Jacob didn't know. 

He didn't even care, no place could be worse than the one he was leaving.

Soon after, he knew they were finally out of the building because he could feel the cold air on his wounded skin and there was something in the air he was breathing that reminded him of spring, or summer. 

It was extremely pleasant and filled his heart with relief: everything was going to be okay. 

  
His last thoughts before falling in a deep slumber were about the man with hazel-green eyes that had gotten him out of that hell. 


	21. Chapter 21

“This is going to be the most stupid thing I've ever done in my life,” Kira muttered to herself as she looked at the ground ten meters below. 

It wasn't the first time she had to climb down a wall if she had to be honest – she hadn't been exactly a saint back in college. 

Still, the current situation was way more tense than it was back then.

Taking the elevator back down was out of question – the guards Derek and Liam had tied up at the ground floor had surely managed to free themselves or call for help by then, and the whole building was probably proliferating with agents. 

  
She looked down at the thick rope slightly swinging in the wind and tried to think of it as some kind of game. 

_You climbed down a wall with a rope made of sheets,_ she told herself, _you can totally do this_. 

She took one last look at the black box she had settled not long before and threw her black bag over her shoulder. 

Then, she wrapped her gloved hands around the rope and carefully overstepped the edge of the roof. 

She took a deep breath and placed her feet flat against the wall. She could now start her descent.

“Don't look down,” she told herself. “Just don't look down.” 

She had been preparing herself for that moment since the day they had started outlining the plan, so she already knew she was going to do that. 

The rope was robust and luckily enough, the building served as shield for the wind that was blowing at full force on the roof. 

If she was careful enough, it was going to be okay.

_It's just three floors,_ she thought, barely managing to prevent herself from looking down, _it's not that hard. One step after another._

  
“Kira!,” rang a voice in her ear. 

“Not now, really,” Kira spat back, her hand slightly slipping from its grip.   
_Just five more meters, just five more..._

Liam ignored her. 

“We're back at the car, where are you?” 

Kira wanted to answer with either a really sharp and sarcastic reply or with an insult. She bit her tongue to avoid both and placed a foot under the other once again. 

“Is Derek there too?” she knew the answer but hope died last. 

“No, he's still inside.”

Kira sighed, her arms felt already sore but luckily enough she was almost done. 

She decided to jump the last two meters and landed badly on her right foot. 

A piercing pain spread through her ankle. She moaned in pain, immediately losing her balance, making her slump her butt on the ground. 

She groaned and leaned her back against the wall, grabbing at the pulsing ankle.   
She removed her shoe and looked at the skin but couldn't see anything yet. 

She knew it was sprained anyway. 

“Kira?” 

“Yes,” she replied, muffling another moan. “I need to take care of the device first. I'll be there soon.” 

_This is bad,_ she thought, _bad, bad, bad._

  
She tried to remember if she had the gun in the bag or if she had stupidly forgotten it on the roof.

If there was one thing she was sure of now, it was that she certainly wasn't suited for action. 

Kira gave her best when she was behind a computer screen. 

  
She sighed, putting the bag on the ground and opening it. Luckily enough, the gun was inside. 

She took that and a small remote control, then rested her head against the wall and looked up, exhaling a long sigh. 

  
“And now we wait.”

  
_...._...._

Stiles looked at the small smoking hole on the right side of the silhouette's waist and frowned. 

He had aimed for his heart and that wasn't the result he was expecting. Not to mention, he had suddenly found himself with his butt on the ground.

Jackson was behind him, arms crossed, and was trying really, really hard to hold back a laugh. 

He cleared his throat while Stiles tried to understand what had happened. 

“Nice shot,” he commented, “if we had our heart in our kidneys.” 

  
Stiles shot him an angry glare and got up, brushing his backside. He looked at his gun with a confused frown. 

“What just happened?” 

“Told you to contract your muscles, didn't I?” 

Jackson got closer to him and took the semiautomatic from his hands. 

“You just experienced a recoil,” he explained “How was it?” 

  
Stiles raised an eyebrow: Jackson was grinning from ear to ear and he felt like a preschooler who just got fooled by his teacher. 

He crossed his arms in a self-protective manner.

“I bet you were not so good yourself when you began,” he retorted. 

“True, I was probably the worst in the group,” the words came out of Jackson's mouth accompanied by a warm smile. 

His eyes were unfocused while he was clearly reminiscing some memories.

Stiles was as curious as a monkey and that was no secret to anyone. He uncrossed his arms and with a softer expression he dared to ask,   
“You were in a group? You mean... in the army?”

Jackson shook his head. 

“I don't want to annoy you with this topic... or make you upset,” he admitted, avoiding Stiles' gaze. 

“Let's go on with the training,” he offered the pistol back to the boy. 

Stiles looked at the gun, but as much as he wanted to go on, he was also very interested in finding more about the people involved with him and about all the people involved in that chaos.

“It's okay if it's Derek,” he said quietly. 

He immediately had Jackson's eyes on him.

“I mean, you are friends and you have a whole background together. You can talk about him, it doesn't affect me anymore.” 

Jackson didn't know how to take those words. 

After all he had revealed about Derek just a few days before, he thought Stiles had a lot to think about, reason why he had barely slept three or four hours per night when he was lucky.   
Jackson could hear the boy turning around in his bed, sighing or even crying sometimes.   
He knew those weren't nightmares, he knew Stiles was awake and was trying to make a point of the whole situation.

_It doesn't affect me anymore – what did those words mean? That he had totally given up on Derek ? or that he had resolved he would find a way back to him all the same?_

Jackson didn't know, but Stiles looked completely exhausted and that was making him think he had picked the first choice.

Jackson sighed and put the gun away. “You can say we were in a team. It was Derek, Peter and me.” 

“Peter?”

“Derek's friend,” Jackson explained. 

“I'd like to describe him to you but I honestly don't know how. He was a very particular kind of person, and I guess he was more similar to Derek than anyone else, that's why they got along so well.”

Stiles reflected on his words. “With 'similar' you mean he has some mental issues as well?”

Jackson shrugged.  
“Kind of, I don't really know. We didn't keep in touch for long. He used to work with Derek, not with me. He worked under the name 'Peter'. I'm not sure if it was his real name or not.”

“Peter...” Stiles repeated quietly, almost as if he was trying to understand what the name tasted like.  
He suddenly realized something. 

“You've been talking about him in past tense... Is he... the man who Derek considered as a family? The man who died?” 

Jackson nodded, and Stiles frowned.

“Derek never talked about him... and it's not weird since he barely talks, but I thought... when you care so much about someone, and this someone dies, shouldn't you keep some memories? Like a picture or... Derek didn't have anything about this man–” 

“Believe me, he's better off dead.” 

  
Stiles' eyes went wide, taken aback by those words. Jackson had stiffened all of a sudden and was avoiding to meet his eyes. 

Stiles wasn't of course going to drop the topic just like that. 

“How can you say that about someone who was so important to Derek?” 

He didn't understand why Jackson was being so cruel all of a sudden. 

Unless... Stiles suddenly got a very bad feeling in his gut. It was so unexpected that he himself couldn't explain the reason behind it, but he suddenly felt really uncomfortable. 

  
“What... what did this man do?”

Jackson shook his head and walked back to the cot beds. He sat on his own, soon followed by Stiles who sat on his messy blankets.  
If that was a conversation that required such measures, it meant Stiles wasn't going to like it.

“If you think...” Jackson began, trying to find the words. He was looking at his hands, his fingers intertwined between his parted legs. 

  
“In our field, everyone is different. Everyone has different standards, preferences, prices, and of course, different ways to deal with the targets.   
I'm more of the standard type: I take my money, do my job the quickest way possible and I'm done.   
I don't enjoy killings more than I enjoy a good dinner.  
Of course I like what I do,” and then he flashed a smile that looked quite disturbing to send a shiver up Stiles' spine.

“But I'm not so obsessed over it. Derek, on the other hand, really enjoys this job and everything that comes along with it – blood, death, everything.   
It's partially because it helps him calm down and partially because he just likes it.   
There's no reasonable explanation for it, so if you ever decide to stay by his side, don't ever look for one,” he met Stiles' eyes again and he was as serious as ever. 

“The moment you start looking for an explanation is the moment you will realize how disturbing this whole environment is, and it will destroy you.”

  
Stiles didn't know if Jackson expected an answer to that, and he didn't have one anyway. He was just listening to him, petrified, swallowing invisible lumps as more words came out of the hitman's mouth. 

Jackson eventually went on without waiting for a response

. “If you think that people like me or Derek are dangerous psychos, then you can easily understand me when I say we're lucky Peter doesn't walk this Earth anymore.” 

He looked at Stiles again, so as to make sure he was listening to every single word. 

“Peter was capable of things that even Derek found deplorable.   
He liked to play with the mind of his victims, to torture them and to make them beg for their death. He didn't have pity for anyone, and by that, I mean anyone.” 

Stiles felt extremely cold, he had goosebumps and shivers all over his skin.

“Then... why did Derek work with him? How could he work with someone whose methods he didn't agree with?” 

Jackson shrugged. “Affection makes you blind even in front of the most atrocious acts.   
Derek and Peter had been together for a long time, Peter was a few years older than him, but they were basically inseparable.   
Derek didn't feel like he had the right to judge Peter's behavior when he himself was so fucked up,” he sighed. 

“Also, as much as he was a monster, Peter was also very loyal to him, in his own way.   
Derek was maybe the only person he really cared about, they had a special bond forged in years and years spent together, watching each other's backs.” 

  
Stiles was feeling like he could understand those feelings. He slowly nodded in acknowledgment.

“And when Peter died during one of their jobs, Derek couldn't admit to himself that it was maybe better like that...” he concluded, almost talking to himself.

“Actually, it didn't go like that...” Jackson murmured. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Then, what happened? How did Peter die?” 

The man sighed. 

  
_...._...._

* _“We can come back tomorrow or next week. We have total freedom about it.”_

_Peter shook his head. They had to make up their minds quickly, as the target could wake up any moment now and realize the girl was gone._

_“No, we have to do it tonight,” he replied, exhaling the smoke into the cold air of the night and leaning back against the wall._

_Derek looked at the little girl jumping here and there in the parking lot of the building, trying to catch the snowflakes._

_She was totally naïve – a couple of reassuring words and a promise to 'take her to see the snow' had been enough to convince her to wear a coat and follow the hitmen._

  
_“I don't understand what's the matter,” Peter went on, eyeing Derek with a raised eyebrow._

_“You're going to kill her father anyway, why make such a fuss about the girl? She saw our faces, you know we can't let this be.”_

_“She's young, she'll forget soon enough. She doesn't understand what's going on,” Derek replied, hands in his pockets, his frozen breaths coming out of his lips in the form of small clouds everytime he muttered a word._

  
_“I don't want her to be here while I kill him.” His eyes were following the little girl without pause._

_Peter observed him for long moments. He kept smoking in silence, studying his partner's features carefully._

That was the problem with Derek, he was weak.

  
_“You should stop letting your stupid feelings guide your actions. It's our job, there's no place for this kind of bullshit.”_

_“Everything has a limit, Peter.”_

_Derek was looking at him now, and Peter didn't like the look on his face. It was that look Derek had when he was silently scolding him._

_He was the older, he knew what was better for the both of them. Derek didn't have any right to look at him like that._

_“Then what do you want to do?” He asked at last, already tired of that whole conversation._

_Derek took a deep breath and let the frozen air hurt his throat._

_“I'm going to hide her somewhere while you finish the job. Then tomorrow we'll find her mother and we'll take the girl to her. This is my plan,” he turned around to see if Peter agreed._

_He was shaking his head. “Don't worry about it, I'll stay with her. You go back up there and finish the job, we'll meet later at the safe house, okay?”_

_He patted Derek's back with a reassuring smile._

_Derek looked doubtful. “Are you sure you can do it?”_

_“Hey, who took care of you and Liam all those years huh? You couldn't even get yourself food at first,” he laughed. “I'm good with stubborn children like you.”_

  
_Derek couldn't deny that. He owed Peter a lot, but sometimes he couldn't help but feel like his partner was more of a threat than a resource._

_Still, they had a plan and Peter agreed, so he decided to trust him once again._

_He took one last look at the child who was still playing with the soft snow, laughing happily in between the falling snowflakes._

Dami , _he thought_ , I'm sorry. 

_He patted Peter's back and nodded. “I'll be back soon, take care of her.”_

_Peter grinned. “You know I'm the best at these kind of things.”_

“I thought I'd lock you up in this room with me but I don't think it'll be necessary,” Peter was grinning from ear to ear. 

Derek hasn't moved a single inch since Jacob had disappeared.

He kept staring at the man in front of him, feeling stuck in some limbo between reality and nightmare. 

Three years. 

It just came to him that it had been three years since he had last seen Peter. 

He must have been hiding all that time, planning his revenge against his old partner. 

They both had been the first and last partner for each other, a bond that was hard to break, but it was shattered now.

Derek couldn't bring himself to say anything. A part of him was actually relieved that Peter was alive and that bothered him to the core because Peter was pure evil. 

Still, thise was a time they had been so close and Derek just couldn't forget, he couldn't erase everything and pretend it had never happened.   
He still remembered everything, the good and bad times. 

  
“Well? Don't you have anything to say?” Peter pushed, stopping a few meters away from the other man. 

“Should I say something, then? For example,” he pointed at himself and smiled, “surprise! Not dead.!!” 

“I am here,” Derek said, bluntly. 

His words echoed on the walls and silence fell between the two men for a while.

Peter gave him a serious look that said 'I know'. 

He was studying him like he used to do back in the day, probably thinking the same things Derek was. Probably reminiscing the same memories.

  
“Just go on and take your revenge,” Derek explained. 

“You put up this whole mess just to have me here. You succeeded. I am here.” He repeated, making a pause after each sentence. 

Peter's lips became a tight line. It was maybe the first time since he had entered the room that he had dropped his disturbing smile. 

Derek was trying to make it look like he had voluntarily stepped into Peter's trap, putting to shame all his efforts, and the man couldn't stand that.   
He was the one having the upper hand, not Derek.   
He needed to understand that. 

He started pacing the room in silence, feeling Derek's eyes burning on his back.

“You think I won't hurt you, I see,” he pondered, still walking. 

“It's because you're so naïve to think I would act like you. That I would spare you because of what we've been through,” he pointed his accusatory eyes on Derek.   
“Indeed we were once family, I wonder if you remember that. Do you remember how many times I dragged you out of troubles?” 

“Just as many as the times you pushed me into them,” Derek replied. 

“You owe me so much, Derek,” Peter insisted. “And look how you repaid me. What makes you think you will come out of this alive?” 

  
“I don't think I will, I'm just asking you to cut this act short and do what you need to do–” a moment later he was tasting the bitter taste of blood inside his mouth. 

His fake glasses laid broken on the ground. He stumbled back as Peter pushed him against a wall, a second punch following the first one.

Derek wiped his broken lip and grinned. “How come Kevin Ito trusts you enough to let you do all the work alone? He's letting you have all the fun, so generous of him.”

Peter grabbed at his collar and lifted him up, slamming his back against the wall one more time, trying to hurt him. 

Derek wasn't reacting and that was what irritated Peter the most. 

“You have always thought I'm a monster,” Peter muttered. “But who's the real monster between us?   
Have you ever asked yourself this question?   
Three years, Derek.” 

He threw the man on the ground, slowly walking over him before pressing one foot flat on his abdomen. 

“Don't you think I have all the rights to be doing this? A life for a life.” 

  
Derek kept staring at him without saying anything. Some fucked up part of his mind was thinking he deserved that treatment at least a bit.

Peter seemed to read his mind because he got more and more annoyed. 

“Why aren't you reacting? Are you pitying me?!” 

He kicked Derek's side, making him turn around, then he kicked him again. The kick hit Derek right at one of his most recent wounds, still not completely healed.   
He coughed a bit of blood mixed with his saliva but quickly wiped his lips and turned around again, kicking Peter's tibia with all his strength. 

That gave him enough time to get up again while the other man winced in pain.

Derek didn't understand Peter's actions. He had expected the man to try and tie him down somewhere and torture him, but instead Peter had been punching and kicking him like it was some kind of game.

What was on his mind?

He couldn't believe he was going easy on him, it wasn't Peter's style. 

  
“Did you want me here to kill me or just to play around?” He asked, spitting some blood on the ground. 

Peter grinned, fixing his coat with an air of superiority, like nothing had happened. 

“Derek... I don't think you get the situation. I'm not here to kill you, I'm here to warn you that I'm about to destroy everything you have ever loved.”

Derek stiffened, making Peter smile even more. 

“Only then will I kill you. Or you'll be the one begging me to do it, one of the two. I would bet on the second one though.” 

Derek felt cold shivers up his spine but tried to keep a straight face. 

“I thought you knew me,” he grinned, “I don't make bonds. You don't have toys you can play with.” 

“Really? Then What about Stiles Stilinski ?” 

Derek's grin died on his lips while his eyes went wide. 

Peter was smiling from ear to ear. He knew he had won.

“He's a client.”

“Oh Please,..” Peter laughed. “Your face is an open book, you just confirmed what, up until now, I had only suspected. Guess I should thank you.”

  
Derek's vision went as red as the blood boiling inside him.   
He had always felt guilty about Peter, he had always felt like he owed him something, he still remembered everything Peter had done for him and he had thought he deserved some kind of punishment.

But Peter was going too far. 

He slammed the man against the wall before he could spit more venom. He knew he was on the verge of one of his blackouts but he wanted to stay lucid.  
He needed to use his rage rationally.

  
“Stay away from him,” he hissed at Peter's face. 

Derek's features were cold as ice; his jaw was so tense it looked like it could break at any moment.  
His eyes darker than ever fixed on the other man.

“I killed you once, I can do it again.” 

Peter exploded in one of his sick laughs. “You're too weak to do something like that again,” he wasn't the least impressed by Derek's actions. 

“You already failed the first time.” 

  
Derek was trembling, the amount of rage he was trying to hold in threatened to break him.   
His mind was going blank at the thought of what Peter could do to Stiles but he knew that was never going to happen.   
Never.

He wasn't going to allow it, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

He pushed Peter against the wall one more time before tearing his hands off his clothes with a jerk.   
He realized there was nothing else to say, nothing that Peter would understand or accept.

He kept his eyes on him and took some steps back, until he was on the other side of the room. It was time for the curtain call. 

  
“What are you doing, Dear Derek?” Peter taunted, brushing the sleeves of his coat. 

Derek pressed himself against the wall, attempting a smirk. 

“The fact that I didn't kill you back then,” he explained, “doesn't mean I will stop trying.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at his weird behavior and the only thing Derek could formulate in his mind was how that expression was probably the last one he would see on the man's face.

He tapped twice on his earbud to activate it again. 

  
“Now,” he ordered. 

  
A moment later, there was a deafening blow and the ceiling collapsed on them. A cloud of smoke and rubble raised from the ruins, the room falling into a complete silence.

The roof had exploded from the right side so that area was completely destroyed while the left side had received lesser damage.   
The bomb wasn't a big one, just enough to blow those few square meters up. 

  
“Derek? Derek, are you alright?” 

The earbud laid chipped a couple of meters away from a pile of ruins. 

  
After some moments, Derek crawled out of that pile, his face and clothes covered in dust.   
He coughed once, twice, three times, violently.   
He couldn't breathe properly but he had avoided the worst. He knew the only way he could hope to survive the explosion was by sticking to the wall on the left side of the large room.

If Kira had arranged the device properly, the major damage should have involved the right side.

He slowly dragged himself out of the ruins, reaching for the earbud and pushing it back into his ear.  
An annoying beep was all he could hear for now, but he knew it would be gone soon.

“I'm here,” he coughed. 

“I fucking thought you were dead, you asshole. That was the most stupid plan in the world, do you know that?” 

Kira's voice sounded to him like something extremely remote, but he could still feel the worry in it and it made him smirk.

“It worked, though,” he slowly got up, brushing his clothes and looking around. The whole room was covered in ruins. 

He looked for any sign of Peter – a hand, a piece of clothing but couldn't see anything. 

_What were the chances he would survive the explosion? He had been right under the calculated midpoint_. 

  
“Still, couldn't you just shoot at each other like two good killers?” Kira insisted, sounding exhausted. 

She was probably running back to the van, and that was when Derek remembered all the guards were probably running out of the building after hearing the explosion. 

He had to be extra careful in getting out of there.

  
“I wouldn't probably be talking to you right now if we had started shooting at each other,” Derek replied. “Go back to the van and hide. I'll be there soon enough.”

  
He turned off the device and faltered to the door, leaning against the wall with one shoulder and pressing one hand on his side.   
A wound had opened again but apart from that, he didn't feel so bad. It could have been way worse, so he considered himself lucky. 

He kept walking alongside the wall, his ears still buzzing and his head slightly spinning.   
He reached the elevator and threw himself against the wall once inside. 

He was physically and emotionally drained but he didn't want to think about it now. He had time to dwell on the events of the day later, when everything was back to normal.

  
When the doors of the elevator opened in front of him, a couple of agents that were running towards the exit stopped to look inside. The shock on their faces was evident since they had no idea someone was still on the top floors.

Derek had no time to make up excuses, so he let his gun do the explanations for him. He actually did want to finish the mission with no victims but there was no other choice.

He looked around the corridor on the ground floor but it seemed empty.   
Those two guards had been very unlucky. 

He quickly walked away shooting at every camera he saw on his path. They surely had managed to reactivate the security system before the explosion.   
The guards were probably all gathered in front of the building so he had to find another way out.

  
He entered the first room he saw and opened the window. His body ached all over but he still managed to jump out of there, finally taking a mouthful of fresh air.   
Even his lungs were aching. 

He got back to the van through rear roads and found Liam, Erica and Scott waiting in there. 

Jacob was unconscious but Liam explained that Scott had given his some pain meds and water and the boy had just fallen asleep. 

  
Derek took his place in front of the steering wheel and looked around. 

“Where is Kira?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Erica answered agitated. “I don't know, I thought she would come back before you did.”   
She glanced at Liam who looked as confused as Derek. 

Derek felt the hair of his nape standing up, as if a cold wind had just passed through him. 

“You mean she hasn't come back at all until now?”

“No.” 

Derek immediately tapped on his earbud. “Yukimura?,” he called. 

No answer. 

“Yukimura, where are you?” He tried again, raising his voice.

Still no answer. 

He could just hear a low buzz on the other side.

Derek wasn't the type to get nervous, but he still felt a wave of panic washing through him while he listened to that terrifying silence. 

“Kira,” he tried again. 

Liam could swear Derek's voice had trembled for a moment. Erica let out a quiet sob.   
Even Scott looked anxious, and he didn't even know Kira before that day.

“Kira, if this is one of your fucking games–” he stopped before even finishing the sentence, slamming a hand on the steering wheel with violence. 

He knew it wasn't a game, someone like Kira would never do such a prank, she was not the type. 

He swallowed hard, staring at the black wheel in front of him for a split second before making up his mind. 

“I'm going back,” he stated, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

Liam jolted out of his seat. “What? Derek, there are agents everywhere!.” 

Derek reloaded his gun and took another one from under his seat. 

“I have to go. We can't leave her there.” 

  
“She could be dead!” 

Erica let out a gasp followed by another sob.

  
“Fucking shut your mouth,” Derek growled, almost pointing the gun at the other man.   
“She's not dead. I will bring her back.” 

  
Liam noticed the fire in the hitman's eyes and slowly backed away.   
He knew it wasn't just a matter of duty for Derek and there was nothing that could hold him back.

Derek jumped out of the van again, his hand itching around the gun he was holding while he took the road he had just come from. 

He thought of Danny and how he didn't want either Kira or Erica to take part in that madness. 

He regretted asking them in the first place. He knew perfectly that he would have thought the same as Danny if someone had asked Stiles to do something like that.

He had promised he wouldn't let anything happen to them. He wasn't going to go back to Danny with bad news.   
It was out of question.

As he walked, some of his memories with Kira suddenly popped in his mind. Her witty remarks and her everyday banters.   
She wasn't the type to show much emotions but she genuinely cared about everyone she knew.

He shook the thoughts out of his head.

_She's not dead_ , he told himself, _she's not_. 

His body ached all over, but his heart was now aching more.

She's not dead. 

He took the safety of his gun off. 

She can't be. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Kira.. 

  
Kira!


	22. Chapter 22

_New York was greeting the first rays of sunlight when Derek closed the heavy door of the safe house behind him._  
 _It was still snowing and was freezing cold outside._

_Derek dragged his snow-covered boots along the narrow corridor and up the stairs to the first floor. The safe house was actually at the top of an abandoned building and consisted of two different floors._

_The place looked like an old basement – empty, every corner and piece of furniture covered in dust. He didn't like it, but it was just a temporary hideout._

_He reached the top floor and found himself in the wide open space that served as living room and kitchen together. The lights were off, but the sunlight coming from one of the big windows on one side of the room was enough to lighten the space._

  
_Peter was sitting at the round table near the kitchen counter and smiled as soon as he spotted Derek coming up the stairs._

_He got up, leaving a half-assembled gun on the wooden surface – his way of wasting time while he waited for his partner._

_“I made coffee,” was his greeting._

_Derek smiled at the familiar voice even without catching the words, his eyes distant and unfocused._   
_He felt tired and all his actions were on autopilot._

_Killing the ambassador had been relatively easy, even though the man had woken up before Derek could shot a hole in his forehead, ruining the hitman's hopes for a silent and quick job._

_He had wasted more time than he wished, between the killing and the cleaning of his traces soon after._

_As if the night hadn't been tough enough already, the thought of the little girl had pierced Derek's mind constantly, almost getting in the way of his job._

  
_He knew he couldn't allow himself to linger on such things._   
_Having no weaknesses of any sort was basically the first rule for the people who worked in his field._

_No feelings, no regrets, no qualms;_

_no family, no friends, no relationships with other human beings whatsoever._

_Not that it was forbidden, it was just an unwritten rule: “loved ones are dead ones” - Derek knew that._

  
_As much as they were all, more or less, cold-hearted people, he didn't know of a single man who'd like to carry the burden of a loved one's death._

_Derek had been good at following the rules up until that moment. But he still had problems not getting affected by particular cases every now and then._

  
_Like the little girl's one. He had just killed her father and all he could think about while he had his hands soaked in the man's blood was that child._

_He hated that job and he was glad it was over they could move on to the next target and forget about it forever._

_But first, they needed to take care of the child._

  
_The child , Derek raised his dark eyes from the dusty ground to take a look around the room._

_The girl– Dami was her name, if he remembered well – was not there._

_Derek dropped his bag on the floor, raising a small cloud of dust just near his combat boots._

_“Is she sleeping?”_

_Peter was at the kitchen counter, pouring cold coffee in a big cup, for Derek. He didn't seem to hear the other man's voice at first and took some moments to reply._

_“What?”_

_“The child,” Derek ran a hand on his tired face. He was asking rhetorical questions._

  
_“Is she sleeping in the other room?”_

_He thought about how much he wanted to join her in dreamland as soon as possible, even if his dreams were only darkness._

_Peter kept his back on Derek, without replying to his questions. The hitman raised an eyebrow._

_“No sugar for me,” he said, seeing how Peter had been stirring a teaspoon in the coffee cup for some time now._   
_He always drank his coffee without sugar and Peter knew it._

_Weird._

_He decided to take a quick look in the other room to check on Dami._   
_He had an unpleasant feeling in his gut since the moment he had left the child with Peter and he just wanted to get rid of that._

_He opened the door, casting a dim light at the futons splayed on the floor. They were all empty._

_Derek blinked twice and even rubbed his tired eyes to be sure of what he was seeing, but Dami was still not there._

_The unpleasant feeling intensified. He stepped back and closed the door absentmindedly, trying to find an explanation._

_He was sure the child wasn't on the first floor, and she wasn't there with Peter either._

Then, where was Dami? 

_“Where is she?” He asked as Peter pushed the coffee cup in his hands in silence._

_He didn't like Peter's stare: he had that look on his face – the look he got when he pitied Derek, or when he wanted to comfort him._

_It was absurd how the two emotions seemed to be the same thing for Peter._

_The man shrugged, eyeing Derek with his empty pupils._

_“She was a threat, I told you.”_

  
_The cup slipped from Derek's hold and ended in pieces on the dusty floor._   
_Derek kept his eyes on his partner, his hand positioned as if he was still holding the cup._   
_His head was spinning, darkness seeping through every inch of his brain, creating a thick fog in front of his eyes._

_No, it wasn't possible. No way something like that would happen._

_“What have you done?”_

_“All that was needed in order to protect us.”_

_“She was just a child.”_

_“She was a witness.”_

“A child!” 

_Derek raised his voice, ignoring Peter's words. He clenched his fists and stepped on the broken pieces of the cup to bring his face only inches away from his partner's._

“How could you?” _He whispered through gritted teeth._

  
_Peter wasn't liking that conversation the least bit and was doing nothing to hide it._

_He pushed Derek back and growled, “How could you NOT? How many times have I told you, Derek? This attitude of yours will kill you._   
_It will fucking kill you and I won't always be here to protect your emotional ass!”_

_Derek brought both hands to his temple, digging his fingers in his black hair._

_He couldn't believe Peter had crossed such a line. They were killers, they were paid to do the worst kind of things, but everything had its limit – everything._

  
_“I gave that girl a fucking gift, trust me,” Peter was smiling almost proudly._

_“She was going to be just another orphan, she won't have to go through what we had to._   
_A bullet into that pretty head was the best cure for her._   
_I was a gentleman this time, I even made it quick and clean, what more do you want?”_

_Derek was shaking his head almost uncontrollably, his mind slowly filling with images he was trying to push back._

_He had never once said anything or judged the way Peter worked – torturing his victims, destroying them psychologically before doing it physically, bringing them on their knees until they would beg him to be killed._

_Derek wasn't a saint, but more than once he had found himself thinking Peter's methods were just too much._   
_But Peter was the anchor he never had, Peter had basically raised him and taught him how to survive._

_Derek knew he wouldn't be there if it wasn't for him, so he had never said anything about Peter's methods._

_He knew he had issues – no man would ever do such things to another human being- but Derek had his own as well, so he was in no position to judge._

  
_And yet, that child... that little girl, she didn't have to end up like that._

_She had her whole life ahead, she didn't deserve such treatment. Children were probably the only human beings Derek would never touch._   
_No one had ever asked him to kill a child, and even if that was the case he would have probably declined the job._

_He could do horrible things, but he couldn't hurt children. In spite of everything, every monster had his own rules and Derek was no exception._

  
_Peter, on the other hand – Peter was the exception._   
_He had no rules, no morals, no feelings. And it wasn't some cool act – Peter really did have no feelings._

_Even if Derek knew how much the man cared about him, he had never been sure whether Peter actually felt affection towards him or not._   
_Looking into the man's eyes was like looking into a dark, empty abyss._

  
_“She probably rejoined her father already, doesn't this make you happy?”_

_The sound of Peter's insane laughter filled Derek's ears up to the breaking point. His sight got completely blurry, a switch turned off in his mind. He knew that sensation too well to not recognize it._

_A moment later, his humanity was almost completely gone, swallowed by the darkness inside him._   
_He violently pushed Peter back, his black eyes following his every movement._

  
_“I asked you to protect her,” his voice sounded completely different, he didn't sound like himself._

_“How am I supposed to trust you when you never listen? You lied to me, saying you would take care of her and then you killed her._   
_How am I supposed to work with you when all you say are bullshit?”_

_Peter stepped back, not because he was afraid, but because he was enjoying the sight of Derek losing control._

_He probably liked Derek's dark side better than the original Derek, because his dark side had no rules or morals, just like him._

_“Oh, but I took care of her, didn't I? Just not the way you thought I would._   
_I promised I would take care of her and I did, you can't say I lied to you,” he still had that huge, disturbing grin on his lips and Derek wanted to tear his mouth off his face._

  
_He was a time bomb. Peter was a fucking time bomb and Derek couldn't bear working with him anymore._

_Not just for Dami – the little girl had just been the final straw._

_He couldn't trust someone who valued his own sick pleasure more than their mutual agreements. How could he trust his life in the hands of someone whose only thoughts were unpronounceable atrocities?_

  
_Peter must have been aware of Derek's dark thoughts because his smile disappeared._

_“Hey kiddo,” his voice was much colder now._

_“Don't forget I just saved your worthless life once again. You really think that girl would have shut up and forgotten?_   
_Give her a year, five years, ten years – sooner or later she would have remembered and we'd have been fucked._   
_I saved your ungrateful ass, the least you can do is thank me.”_

_Derek just pushed him again, almost sending him to smash against the big window. Peter was wrong but he had no interest in making him understand, not anymore._

_“You're a monster,” he spat before he could help it._

_He was shocked at his own words._

_There was only one person he had considered a monster up until that moment and it was his own self. Now he realized Peter was maybe even worse than him and it was simply shocking._

  
_Peter's face was distorted in something that resembled a mixture of shock and hurt, but he ended up just looking less human than he already did._

_He was probably wondering how could Derek say something like that to him, he probably thought Derek was being incredibly ungrateful._

  
_His expression changed in the blink of an eye, rage twisting his every feature. He looked incredibly terrifying and Derek fought the urge to take a step back._

_Peter grabbed a fistful of Derek's hair, pulling the man closer to whisper right into his face._

_“We're both monsters,” he was smirking from ear to ear, “this is what you always seem to forget. Stop playing human._   
_Act like the filthy creature you are,”_

_As Derek tried to free himself from his hold, Peter only pulled harder on his hair._

_“I'm sorry, I didn't know the girl was so important to you. If I did, I promise I would have teared her small body to pieces and brought one of them back to you, as souvenir.”_

_Derek's mind went blank at that. If Peter wanted the monster, he had just obtained it._

_It all happened really quickly. With a sudden jerk, Derek freed himself from the other's hold, took a step back and shoved his boot flat into Peter's stomach, pushing him back so violently that he crashed against the window behind him._

_The glass was old and thin, and it didn't manage to bear the brunt, breaking into a million pieces and abandoning Peter to his doom._

  
_Derek only came back to his senses at the sight of the man falling down and disappearing from his sight forever._   
_His eyes went wide with shock, but it was too late._

_There was a long moment of silence after that, in which Derek just stared at the broken window with wide eyes, trying to understand if that was reality or just a nightmare._

_He stayed there, frozen, not daring to step forward and look down._   
_The building was a tall one, no way Peter could have survived the fall. He hadn't even screamed._

  
_Derek ran both hands over his face, desperation seeping through every fiber of his body._   
_It wasn't supposed to end like that. He didn't want to kill him._

_He opened his eyes and looked at the window through the spaces between his fingers._

_Maybe... maybe he wanted to?_

_Maybe he actually wanted to kill Peter?_

_Maybe it was something that had been on his mind for a long time, just like how he had always disliked Peter's methods._

_Maybe he really wanted to get rid of him, because he knew it would have been better for everyone._

_He swallowed a lump in his throat. There was no time for that now. Someone could have seen Peter's fall or noticed his lifeless body on the ground by now._

_He didn't have time to clean up, nor did he want to do it. Peter wasn't just any man, he had been a big part of Derek's life, through good and bad times._   
_He didn't have the strength to face his dead body._

_Derek decided he was going to be a coward for the first time in his life._   
_He cleaned his fingerprints from the few things he had touched, grabbed his bag and his few belongings and left the building through the old, rusty backdoor._

_The first, painful pang of guilt hit him as he was walking fast down the road and away from the safe house. It felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach and it left him breathless._

_He had to stop in his tracks and, after pressing one hand on his heart, he breathed deeply in and out until the pain seemed to stop._

_He looked up at the gray sky – not a single tear was forming in his eyes._

_Derek didn't know what was wrong with him, how could he not be crying over the loss of his only friend?_

_Maybe he really was just a monster pretending to be human, like Peter had said._

_“Forgive me,” he whispered, his thoughts coming out in small clouds as he talked to the endless stretch of gray and orange above him._

_Maybe he really was just an ungrateful imitation of a human being._   
_Peter had been the worst kind of man and still, he had been good to him._

_Derek knew he was the only one Peter actually cared about. He knew everything about that man, about his dark side, but not once had he tried to save him from the darkness that was swallowing him whole._

_Maybe there wasn't a single chance to save Peter from himself, but Derek didn't even try. What kind of friend would do something like that?_

_Maybe he could have avoided such a tragic ending, if only he had tried to save the man a long time before._

  
_He took a last deep breath, grabbed his bag from the ground again and let his feet guide him anywhere away from there._

_No use in such thoughts. He was a hitman. He killed people. He didn't know how to do anything else._

  
_Derek didn't know how to save anyone._

Derek was going to save Kira. There really were agents everywhere, as Liam had said, but he was not going to give up like that. 

He was sure Kira was still alive and he was going to bring her home at all costs. 

He was soaked in sweat from all the efforts and tension, and his head was still spinning from the explosion, but it didn't matter to him. 

  
He could see two agents a few meters away, but luckily darkness was on his side. Night had slowly fallen upon them, and the agents were going around using flashlights but their search was still slowed down considerably. 

Derek took the safety off his gun and set the silencer at the end of the barrel, then he proceeded to shoot both guards, watching as they fell on the ground without a sound.   
He looked around, brushing some wet hair away from his eyes, and when he was sure no one else was nearby, he quickly reached the dead bodies and took the two-way radio from one of the agents' belts, along with the badge on his jacket. 

  
He pressed the small button on the side of the device and spoke into the receiver, “ Ray speaking,” he read the name written on the badge. 

“Have you found any of the intruders yet?” He released the button and waited for an answer.

“Seo speaking, we're searching the west side but no one's here.” 

  
Derek sighed in relief. He cleared his throat, his eyes still scanning the area all around. 

“They're probably already gone. How much longer do we have to do the rounds?” 

“I've heard Devid has found one of them in the east area, but I didn't hear from him since then.  
I think he brought the prisoner inside.” 

  
Derek froze on the spot. That was Kira, no doubt. The area was exactly the one where Kira should have been while waiting to detonate the bomb.

“The south side is clear,” he replied slowly,   
“we're going to check on the east side now. Devid may need some help,” he closed the communication at that.

Hopefully that would keep the other agents away from that area while he looked for Kira. 

  
He kept the radio and took one of the flashlights, taking some rear roads to walk around the block of buildings and reach the other side.   
The agents were all busy doing narrow patrols, they probably had instructions about not getting too far away from the main building. 

The east side was the darkest one. The height of the building blocked even the faint light of the full moon, leaving that side in complete darkness. Derek eyed his surroundings suspiciously.   
It looked quiet and deserted, and that was enough to set his senses on alarm.

  
He turned on the flashlight and pointed it towards the ground. No traces or footprints on the hard concrete.   
He walked for maybe a minute in the direction of the building, then he saw it. 

A first, small stain on the ground.

He knelt down and brushed his fingers against it. It was a red liquid. Blood.

He pointed the flashlight ahead and noticed more stains, bigger stains. He swallowed hard and hoped it wasn't what he dreaded the most.

He took some more careful steps, checking every stain and carefully avoiding stepping on them. 

When he was a few meters from the building, he heard a low sound. Someone was breathing heavily in front of him, maybe just a couple of meters away from Derek.   
They were either sitting or lying on the ground, judging from the source.

Derek pointed his gun in what he thought was the right direction, ready to shoot whoever was there with him, then he pointed the flashlight in the same direction. 

The shining barrel of a gun was pointed at Derek. Behind the trigger was a shaky hand, and behind that hand was Kira's determined face. 

Derek felt the weight of the world falling off his shoulders and lowered the flashlight a bit so that Kira could recognize his face. 

“Yukimura,” he said, his voice full of relief. 

Kira's expression went from deadly serious to shocked in a matter of seconds. She lowered her gun and only then Derek did notice the dead body a few meters away from the girl. 

  
“Derek...” Kira's voice gave away all her desperation.   
She must have thought she was going to die there – other agents were going to find her sooner or later. 

Kira was sitting with her back against the wall, the bulletproof vest was gone and her clothes were partially ripped. 

Derek knelt beside her and noticed that half of her shirt was soaked in blood. 

Kira had been shot. 

Derek's features froze, as he ripped parts of his shirt to wrap it around Kira's chest in a poor attempt to stop the blood. 

“What happened?” He asked in a low voice, using the flashlight to inspect the rest of her body. 

She had several bruises on her face, some dried blood on her temple and around the corner of her mouth. 

She wasn't in good conditions and Derek felt the urge to bring her home, but he wasn't even sure if Kira could walk or not.

  
Kira hissed as Derek's fingertips gently brushed the bruised spots on her face. 

“I hurt my foot while climbing down the wall and I couldn't walk,” she nodded towards the dead man. 

“The motherfucker found me and tried to drag me away. He ripped my bulletproof vest and my clothes and beat me up because I was resisting. I even lost the earbud...” she swallowed the lump in her throat. 

She had lost lots of blood, Derek knew it. He could see how weak Kira was, her skin was pale and covered in cold sweat. She probably had a high fever as well. 

“I tried to run away but my foot hurt so much so I fell down. That's when I heard him taking out his gun,”   
Kira quickly wiped her eyes and cracked a short laugh that was anything but amused.

“He wanted to kill me because he knew he couldn't bring me inside as long as I was alive. Luckily I was faster than him and I reached for my gun, but he still managed to shoot me and I honestly don't know how bad it is,” 

She raised her left arm to let Derek see where the bullet had hit her. 

Derek lifted Kira's shirt up just enough to see the wound. It was right beside her chest.   
A few centimeters and it could have pierced right through her heart, but luckily it had just grazed her side, under the arm. 

  
Derek looked at the body of the agent and thought he was lucky to be dead because the treatment he wanted to give him would have been way less quick and gentle than what Kira gave him. 

“Seo speaking, how's the situation there?” Both of them were jolted out of their thoughts and looked at the radio hanging from Derek's belt. 

The hitman took it and pressed the button, “East area is clear. We're heading back.” 

He closed the communication and threw the radio away, focusing his utmost attention back to Kira.

“It's just a scratch. Scott is there, he will fix you right away, don't worry,” he spoke in a soft and reassuring voice, looking at the bruised face in front of him and trying to suppress the waves of uncontrollable rage that were building up inside of him. 

His hands were itching, he wanted to make a massacre. 

Kira just nodded. “Derek... I thought... I thought I was going to...” her voice faded away. 

She pressed her face in Derek's neck without further warning, fists clenching around Derek's shirt. 

She wasn't crying, nor sobbing. Kira rarely cried, but she was clearly upset and needed someone to soothe her pain. 

Derek slowly wrapped one arm around her back, while he brushed Kira's hair with the other hand.

He was not good at comforting, and his brain was urging him to take Kira away from there. 

  
“We need to go,” he whispered, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

Kira just nodded and slowly released her grip, leaning back to face the hitman. Her head was spinning more and more as the time passed.

“I don't think I can... walk...” she slurred, resting her back against the wall and pressing a hand on her forehead.

“Yukimura?” Derek asked, worried, seeing how paler the girl had become. He looked down and noticed she was still bleeding profusely, the makeshift bandage was already soaked. 

“Shit.” Kira grabbed at Derek's jacket, her eyes already half-closed.

“Erica...she's wait..waiting... I think Danny will have... your head... if you don't br... bring... me... ho... m...” Her grip slowly lost its hold as she slipped into unconsciousness without a sound.

Derek fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed Liam's number. 

“Start the car and drive around the first block to the east side. Make sure no one sees the van,”   
he ordered to a puzzled Liam on the other side of the line. 

“Scott said he needs a bigger space to do the patching. The boy's injuries are a bit worse than he thought.  
So we are going back to Danny's place. Have you found Kira?” 

“She's wounded, no time to talk. We're coming.”

He slipped the phone in his pocket along with the flashlight.  
He put the gun back in the holster, slid one arm behind Kira's back and the other one under her knees, slowly lifting her up.   
He held her tightly in his arms and carried her away from there as fast as possible. 

  
“I'm afraid Danny will have to wait for my head a bit longer.” 

  
_...._...._

“Faster!” 

  
Stiles was completely soaked in sweat, part of his clothes scattered on the floor, his breath heavy and irregular.   
He had a pounding headache as his eyes were scanning his surroundings without pause.

Jackson was behind a pillar and was maneuvering the targets through a complicated system of wires in order to give Stiles a foretaste of what it felt like being surrounded and attacked from all possible directions. 

Most of the targets bore the signs of that endless conflict: Stiles had managed to strike some good shots, but not even remotely as good as he expected. 

  
Taking an aim and hitting the right point were two completely different things and he was learning it firsthand.   
He wasn't satisfied with himself, but he was positive there was still hope for improvements.

His gun was empty and he currently was trying to reload it as quick as possible while Jackson kept screaming at him to get faster, but the magazine kept slipping from his sweaty hands and he couldn't insert it properly.

  
Jackson sighed and stopped the targets, imitating a gun with his index and thumb and pointing it at Stiles.

“Bang, you're dead,” he said in a flat tone.

Stiles snorted, disappointed at his own failure, and let himself fall flat on the ground, his chest quickly moving up and down inside the white tank top as he tried to catch his breath. 

He was dead tired and felt like he was achieving nothing – he couldn't even beat some cardboard targets, how was he supposed to face real threats?

  
He opened his eyes and instead of the gray ceiling, he found Jackson's smiling face looking down on him.

“What?” He asked, escaping his stare. 

“You're getting worse instead of getting better,” Jackson simply said, still smiling.  
“How is that possible?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and got up, grabbing his t-shirt from the floor and throwing it over his shoulders.  
He went to the kitchen and took a bottle of water - half-drinking it, half-spilling it all over his face and neck. 

Jackson followed him, not taking his eyes off him.  
“I can tell you're not as tired as you want me to believe,” he pushed. “Something's bothering you.”

  
“Yeah, the fact that I fucking suck at handling a gun,”   
Stiles slammed the bottle on the counter with a bit too much force.

Jackson crossed his arms, carefully observing the other man. Stiles was clearly upset, his eyebrows almost knitted together and his features frozen. 

“You're not that bad, and you're just at the beginning. Give yourself a few more days and you'll see some results...”

Stiles nodded absentmindedly, drinking some more water, his eyes focused somewhere undefined.

Jackson frowned. “...but you already know that,” he went on, realization hitting him.

“This is not what is really bothering you, is it?”

  
Stiles sighed, wiping the sweat off his neck with a towel.

“What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth.” 

“Nothing bothers me,” Stiles immediately replied, giving his back to the hitman. 

  
He was lying and was also aware of his lies. That training wasn't going to last forever. In a few days, they were heading back to New York, and then what?   
Was he going to meet Derek again?   
Or was he going to never meet him again?

Stiles didn't know which option made him more nervous. 

  
His feelings for Derek were still stuck somewhere between hatred and forgiveness.   
Now that he knew the whole story, he couldn't bring himself to hate him as much as before for what he had done, but he couldn't completely forgive him either. 

_Was he going to live in that limbo forever?_

Maybe he just needed to accept Derek's issues and treat that 'accident' as it was: something neither of them could have controlled.

If he had to be honest with himself, his rage had dissolved long before. Probably the same day Jackson had opened up about Derek with him. 

Coming to know the past, the problems and the struggles Derek had been carrying on his shoulders throughout his whole life – Stiles couldn't be left unaffected by that.

He was fundamentally the type of person more inclined towards forgiveness, no matter what wrong doing he was subjected to. He didn't know if it was a good thing or not – being so kind hearted. 

Some days he hated it, some days he found himself thinking it was the only thing that made him feel still human. 

  
“Is it because of Derek?” 

Jackson's voice sounded distant and Stiles' head spun for a moment before he came back to reality. 

He smiled, reloading his gun with confidence. “It's not like every time I have something on my mind, it must be about Derek, you know?”

Jackson didn't flinch. “But it is this time, isn't it?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and walked past him, going back to the targets.   
He aimed for one that was a few meters away from him and took the safety off.   
He shot twice, hitting the target both times, but only one of the bullets pierced through one of the vital points. 

Jackson leaned against one of the pillars with his left shoulder and crossed his arms, watching as Stiles unloaded a whole magazine against the defenseless target. 

In just a day he had made a huge progress. He wasn't born for it, but he had natural skills and Jackson didn't know if he should have been amused or worried by it. 

“You're not going to use it against Derek, right?” He asked all of a sudden, trying his best to convey a smile.

Stiles was inserting a new magazine into his semi-automatic and only looked up for a brief moment to send a confused look at the hitman. He slammed the magazine inside the gun and moved back the slide with fluid motions, his eyes focused on what he was doing. 

  
“What are you talking about,” it was a question, but no question mark could be heard in Stiles' tone.

Jackson nodded towards the targets. 

“The training, the things I'm teaching you. You're not planning to use it against Derek, right?”

Stiles puffed a laugh, amused. “I don't hate him that much.”

“So you hate him?” 

Stiles fixed his grip on the weapon. 

“No,” he said quickly, not looking at Jackson.

“You just said you do,” the older man pointed out. 

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his wet hair in frustration. 

“I meant that even though he did what he did, I have no intention to kill him,” he waved the gun in circles as to underline his next words,   
“and it shouldn't be a problem for him anyway. He's a professional, right? I'd be an idiot to even think about it.” 

Jackson looked worried. 

“Put the safety on, it's not a toy,” he waited for an annoyed Stiles to do as he was told before going on.   
“Your words sound confusing to me. You're talking like you would actually try to kill Derek if you had the chance – or better skills.”

  
Stiles threw his head back and exhaled a long, frustrated sigh, his arms abandoned at this sides. _Jackson just wasn't going to leave him alone, was he?_

“I don't hate Derek and I don't want him dead,” he stated, serious as ever.

He went back to the kitchen and that was when his mask fell all of a sudden, allowing Jackson to see the fragility behind his attempts to be strong and unaffected.

“I can't even bring myself to be angry at him anymore, and this is maybe what bothers me the most,” Stiles admitted, his shoulders low and some locks of wet hair covering his eyes.   
He looked like a deflated balloon.

“I'm still hurt for what he's done to me, but in a way I think I kind of... understand the reason behind his act now, and I can't put all the blame on him anymore.  
Basically, you took away the only way I had to feel better about it,” he attempted an ironic smile, failing miserably when his lips barely curved in what looked like a crooked grimace. 

  
Jackson was listening to Stiles' words but he was more focused on his body language.   
The way he was clenching his fist, the way his eyes seemed to wander everywhere and yet remain unfocused, every little frown in his expression – those small things told Jackson way more than what was coming out of Stiles' mouth. 

He could feel his pain, his desperation, and every shade he saw painted on Stiles' face made him think of only one thing: he was missing Derek way more than he was ready to admit to himself.

  
“Do you remember what I told you about Peter?”

Stiles was taken aback by the sudden change of subject, but maybe it was better that way. 

He cracked a smile, “It was just a few hours ago, of course I remember.”

“Derek never forgave himself for that,” Jackson wasn't listening to him.  
“He was broken inside, he became a recluse more than he already was. He suffered in a way that I can barely imagine,” he shook his head.

Stiles felt a lump in his throat. He didn't know why the topic affected him so much, but he already had weird thoughts forming in his mind. He left his gun aside and softly drummed his fingers on the hard surface of the counter. 

“He suffered for a man... who did all those bad things?” 

Jackson nodded, his eyes fixed on Stiles. 

“Exactly. He felt guilty towards a man who probably wouldn't have thought twice before killing him.  
So now, can you imagine how he felt when he hurt someone who actually cared about him? Can you imagine how he felt when he hurt you?”

Those words hit right through Stiles' heart, just like burning daggers. 

He felt the impelling need to shut Jackson's voice out of his mind, hide somewhere and stop listening to that speech. 

All of a sudden it was getting hard to breathe.

  
“He called me,” Jackson went on, spelling each words very slowly, “and told me he was a monster and that he had to stay away from you, to protect you.   
He had never called himself that, but he did once he realized what he had done to you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles cried, one hand covering his eyes and the other clenched in a fist.   
Not a single tear was rolling down his cheeks but he couldn't take that conversation anymore. 

He didn't want to hear that, he didn't need any more reasons to forgive Derek.   
He had the right to feel hurt and enraged and betrayed and broken – he wanted to feel like that, because letting go of those feelings meant he had no more reasons to convince himself that he was completely fine without the hitman. 

Plus, Jackson was an enigma. Stiles knew he had tried to kiss him, but his actions and his words collided. 

Jackson could literally use the current situation for his own benefit, but instead, it looked like he was trying hard to convince Stiles that Derek was worth forgiving. 

_Why? Just why was he acting like that?_

Deep down, Stiles probably had an answer for that already, and he found confirmation in the troubled expression on the man's face.

Jackson looked like someone who was fighting an inner battle with his own feelings – Stiles knew perfectly how it felt and he could catch all the signs.  
The man wanted to use the situation, but at the same time he didn't want to take advantage of Stiles' confused state. 

That was exactly why Stiles liked him – Jackson was a good friend.

  
“Derek is my friend,” Jackson said, quietly.   
“Even if we don't call ourselves that, I guess 'friend' is the word that best describes what we are.   
I've seen him struggling for years and I couldn't do anything to help him. So I hoped he could find what he needs the most, with you.” 

  
Stiles' heart was trembling but he tried hard to keep himself together. He crossed his arms against his chest and looked down at his shoes, faking indifference. 

“What makes you think I should accept him again into my life just because you want me to?”

Jackson shook his head. “It's not like that. Your choices remain yours, and yours alone.   
But I know that Derek never talks about himself and given your current situation, I thought you needed to know the whole story before making a decision. 

I thought you should know that, even though he appears to be a cold-blooded, merciless killer, Derek is still a man.   
Under all those layers of carelessness, behind the mask there's still a human being, and even if your feelings for him have disappeared...” 

he made a long pause and looked at Stiles, as if he was searching for a confirmation, but Stiles' face wasn't showing anything. 

“...maybe you could still consider forgiving him. That's all,” he shrugged, approaching Stiles and taking his gun from the counter. 

  
“We can go on now, if you want.” 

Stiles had his heart in his throat, beating fast in his ears as it felt like someone had just added more weight on his stomach.   
He felt dizzy, he was suddenly overwhelmed by those words and by what they implied. 

He really didn't need any more reasons to miss Derek more than he was already doing, but here they were.   
Jackson had served them on a silver platter and Stiles couldn't ignore his feelings anymore. 

Still, he harshly grabbed his weapon from Jackson's hands, pretending to be unaffected by his words. 

“There's only one flaw in what you just said, and it's in how you take for granted that I didn't know anything about Derek before you started spilling his whole story to me,” he cleaned the barrel of his gun and checked the loaded magazine one more time to be sure it was inserted properly.

Jackson looked a bit taken aback by Stiles' words, but he didn't have time to formulate a proper reply because the boy had already walked past Jackson without even looking at him, a determined expression on his face and a loaded weapon in his hand. 

  
Memories were filling Stiles' mind: the shopping afternoon, the late-night dinners, waking up in Derek's bed and not remembering how he had ended up there – as well as the nights where he could swear he felt Derek's fingers in his hair, soothing his nightmares, but he could never tell if it was a dream or not. 

  
Also, the daily little things: his breakfast always ready – he actually could tell when Derek had come back from a job even before opening his eyes because he would wake up to the scent of coffee - or how every time he mentioned something he needed – even just casually – it would most probably appear in the house out of nowhere the next day;   
and lastly, but probably the most meaningful memory – the teasing kisses. 

The way Derek would, rarely, kiss him out of nowhere, just for a moment, just enough for Stiles to taste his lips, and then pull away with that sly smirk of his.   
Just to tease him, Stiles knew, but he loved it nonetheless.

Stiles walked past Jackson with these thoughts in mind, slowly massaging his neck like he was suffocating – and maybe, in a way, he was. 

He could feel Jackson's eyes on his back. Jackson furrowed his eyebrows, confused by Stiles' attitude. 

He could swear he had heard him whispering some words as he passed by him.

  
_I already knew Derek was human._

  
_...._...._

Boyd's eyes were swollen when he opened the door to let Derek and the rest of the gang in. 

Liam had one arm around Jacob's waist and helped him walk into the flat. He was conscious, but extremely weak, and immediately collapsed on the armchair. 

“Oh my god,” Boyd cried, his voice breaking in the middle.  
He knelt in front of the armchair, taking in his wounded body. He wanted to touch him but he knew it wasn't the best choice. 

His hands were trembling, hanging a few centimeters away from his bruised skin. He was in a state of utter shock. 

“Oh my god,” he was repeating it over and over.

  
“God has nothing to do with this,” Scott said, putting his kit on the table near the armchair. He looked at the boy – he honestly didn't know where to begin. He was surprised he was still conscious. 

Jacob had his eyes half-closed, his arms abandoned on the armrests as if his energy had been completely drained out of him.

But he wasn't the only victim. 

Derek had to carry Kira's unconscious figure all the way to the couch, trying to ignore the way Danny's face had completely changed at the sight of Kira's shirt soaked in blood. 

Derek didn't dare speak to him. 

“Scott,” he called out – it was almost a plea. His clothes were stained in Kira's blood, his eyes focused on the motionless body of the girl. 

Scott glanced at Kira, and grimaced at the blood still slowly seeping from the wound. 

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. 

He thought Jacob was going to be the most serious one, but he was wrong. Kira's injuries worsened in these few hours.

She seemed to be in a critical condition. 

Danny grabbed Derek by his jacket and pushed him against the wall.   
His face was dark and his expression so distorted it was hard to recognize him. 

Derek was taller and stronger, but he decided not to react. 

“You better pray she survives,” the younger spat with a voice full of hatred. 

“You better pray for your life that she survives. Because I don't fucking care who you are or what you can do, I will spend the rest of my life making sure you pay for it.” 

Derek looked into Danny's eyes. They were watery, and his hands around Derek's jacket were trembling. 

He was afraid. 

Afraid of losing Kira, his friend, his sister. 

Derek understood that, and took a deep breath, “She will be fine” – he didn't know whether he was trying to reassure himself or Danny. 

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?!” 

Danny slammed him against the wall again. “You promised to protect them! Is this how you protect people?!”   
He pointed at Kira lying unconscious on the couch, Erica sat beside her, her face as white as a ghost. 

Danny was totally out of control and Derek didn't know what to do. He had never seen Danny lose his composure like that. 

His silence, though, was completely misunderstood by the latter, who took it as a sign of disregard. 

“Do you even care if she lives or dies? Do you?!” 

he was shouting in his face now, and Derek was still not reacting, even though those last words had stirred the beast inside of him. 

Of course he cared, how could Danny imply otherwise? 

Erica felt the need to step in at that. She stood up and grabbed Danny by his shoulder trying to get him away from Derek. 

"It's okay Danny.. please... please calm down.. shouting is not going to help.."

Liam stepped up too,   
“You were not there, you don't know. Derek went all the way back to save her, even though it was extremely dangerous. Don't talk if you don't know what happened.” 

Liam's words had the only effect of making Danny more upset than he already was. He widened his eyes and turned his attention back to Derek. 

He was shocked.

“...You left her alone?” 

“I didn't–” 

“You let her go on her own? Just like that?” 

“It was part of the plan, we decided it together.”

  
“You left her alone to die!”

“Don't you dare–”

  
“Get out!” Scott shouted all of a sudden. 

Everyone fell silent. Scott picked up a surgical knife his utmost attention focused on Kira. 

“Everyone, get out. Now.” 

Danny released Derek from his grip and stepped towards Scott.

“I'm not going anywhere, this is my house.” 

Scott shot him a death glare.

“Your friend's life is in my hands, and I hope you won't take any offense if I make you notice your cat fights are of no help here,” he nodded towards the door. 

“Get out and let me do my work.”

Danny had no sharp reply for that. He clenched his fists and walked out of the room, followed by Liam and Derek, who glanced one last time at Erica before leaving. 

  
Boyd held Jacob's hand in his own, still kneeling on the floor in front of him. He was barely looking at him and also barely conscious. 

“You'll be fine,” he whispered, nodding to himself. He was looking at him but he was not sure whether he could hear his words.   
Jacob looked like a lifeless doll.

“You're going to be fine,” he kissed the back of Jacob's hand before getting up. 

  
Scott glanced at the boy and then at Boyd leaving the room. 

He knew there was nothing that could possibly be fine with Jacob anymore, but he stayed silent. 

Boyd didn't need any more bad news for the time being. 

  
The four men gathered in the hall. Liam and Danny leaned against the wall while Boyd crouched in a corner. 

Derek felt lost. After all that action, the adrenaline, the rush, everything was now reduced to that small room, waiting for Scott to give good news – if there were any. 

Derek had been in the field long enough to know everything about glitches and casualties. 

There was almost always something that he couldn't predict when carrying out a plan.   
A hole in the security system, lack of ammunition, one more dead than necessary – anything could happen and any mistake could be potentially lethal. 

Kira was the casualty this time.   
The rational part of his brain told Derek the wound wasn't a lethal one, all the contrary, but he still couldn't help but hate every minute he spent waiting outside of that door, without knowing what was happening inside.

_Was that how Stiles had felt when he was shot?_

_He had seen Derek's lifeless body, the blood, and had waited for an eternity outside of his door, praying he would survive?_

He immediately realized what dangerous course his thoughts were taking, but luckily enough he had no time to linger on them.

In fact, Danny was the first to surrender to the pressure, giving Derek a reason to distract himself.

Danny couldn't stand being in a room with the three men. Two of them were almost strangers to him and the third one was the one he blamed for Kira's state. 

He couldn't just stay there in silence, waiting to know if his loved one was lost forever. He cursed under his breath, pushing himself off the wall and leaving the apartment with heavy steps, slamming the door behind him. 

  
Derek didn't hesitate to follow him out in the corridor, finding Danny with his back against the stained wall, the red hood covering half of his face while he lit himself a cigarette. 

“Since when do you smoke?” Derek asked quietly, leaning against the wall beside him, both hands in his pockets. 

“I don't,” Danny replied, sucking on his cigarette and releasing a first cloud of smoke soon after.

Derek observed him from the corner of his eye. 

“I see...”

Danny looked totally calm now. His attitude had completely changed from a few minutes before, like he had already poured out all his feelings when he had slammed Derek against that wall.

Derek didn't know what was on his mind, but he knew what he had to say, for once. 

“I'm sorry,” 

He tried to sound as sincere as possible.

  
Danny didn't flinch. He took another mouthful of smoke and released it to the ceiling. 

“I don't fucking care about your apologies.” It was all he said. 

Derek expected that kind of reply. What he didn't expect was what Danny said soon after. 

“It's my own fault for letting them go on with this madness,” he admitted, his voice was steady but the frantic way he was moving his right leg – like he was trying to keep up with the rhythm of some upbeat song – gave away all his nervousness.

“It's just a scratch,” Derek said, pretending he didn't see the single tear rolling down Danny's cheek.   
He knew he had the hood on for a reason and he certainly didn't want anyone to see him in his most fragile state. 

“Believe me, I checked. She's going to recover soon.” 

Danny brushed his face with the sleeve of his hoodie and sniffled loudly, trying to make it pass for a cold.   
He nodded at Derek's words, his eyes fixed on the ground, the cigarette hanging between his fingers slowly consuming itself. 

They didn't talk for the next hour, nor did they move from there. It was dead silent inside the apartment as well, Liam and Boyd surely didn't have much to talk about nor the will to do it.

Danny had 'smoked' three cigarettes – barely taking a single puff from each of them – when Scott called them all inside. 

He rushed inside the room before anyone else, fearing what he would find once there. 

Scott was standing beside the couch, wiping his hands with a towel. 

Danny noticed the red stains on the white fabric, before turning his gaze to the couch. 

Kira was still lying there, two big pillows beside her head and a thick bandage around her torso.

She was still pale, and she had several medical patches on her bruised face, on the forehead and on her cheek. 

But Danny didn't notice any of that, because even though Kira was still in the bad condition he had left her an hour before, she was now smiling at him. 

Danny couldn't believe his eyes. He stayed there, petrified, incredulous. Kira reached out her arms, not without some difficulty, her eyes on the other man. 

She looked worn out but her smile was as genuine as ever. 

“Hey Danny..” 

Danny made some careful steps towards the couch. Breathless, he pulled down his hood, kneeling on the floor and abandoning himself in Kira's arms.   
He wrapped the latter in a strong embrace, though still being careful not to apply too much pressure on her wound. He pulled out as Erica jumped in.

She hid her face in Kira's neck as the other laughed, brushing her hair.   
Kira's heart was beating slow and steady against her chest and Erica closed her eyes – it was enough: Kira was still there with them. 

  
Derek came in after Danny, while Liam decided to stay outside.   
He and Scott weren't really close with those guys, but Scott was the medic so he had to stay with them.   
Liam, on the other hand, had nothing to do in there. 

  
The hitman wanted to make sure Kira was really fine, but seeing how she was hugging Danny and Erica he decided to leave them some time alone, and he focused his attention on Jacob. 

Boyd was already by his side, and he seemed happy to see him. He looked a bit better than before, and at least he seemed completely conscious. 

He had bandages and medical patches everywhere, and his ruined hair were tied in a messy knot. 

Jacob spotted Derek and his face lit up. 

“You...” 

Boyd got up and wrapped his arms around Derek, blocking him in a tight grip before he had the time to escape. 

“Thank you so much,” Boyd's voice was muffled by Derek's jacket.   
“You risked your life to bring him back to me, I will never be able to repay you.” 

Derek looked over Boyd's shoulder and saw the soft smile on Jacob's lips. He was exhausted but his eyes were an open book. 

Derek could read all the atrocities he had gone through, and he probably was still in that limbo between relief and realization that allowed him to have such normal reactions even after all he experienced. 

Soon enough he would start to remember and then... who knows what was going to be of his mind.*

  
“You can start by letting me go,” Derek mumbled, annoyed at Boyd's exuberance. 

He was immediately freed from Boyd's grip and he saw Jacob reaching his hand out to him.

Derek did not take his hand but got closer, so that he could speak to him without forcing his voice. He probably felt like everything inside and outside of him was broken. 

“Thank you,” was the only thing he said, with slurred words.   
It was enough, there was no need for him to say anything else. 

Derek could see the gratitude on his face, he was still alive and he knew he owed everything to the man in front of him. 

Derek just nodded, he was not used to that kind of situation. It was uncomfortable, but not completely unpleasant. 

  
Scott was cleaning up his medical instruments, putting them back in one of his bags, the one he had left on the table beside Jacob. 

Derek saw Boyd hesitating before eventually asking about Jacob's conditions.

“Most of his wounds were already healing over,” Scott explained, pinching the top of his nose. He looked tired. 

“There was not much I could do about it except disinfect them. I disinfected all his wounds, but they weren't critical.   
I'm more worried about the psychological impact the tortures had on him.   
I would suggest to let him stay somewhere safe, where he can relax and have therapy until he recovers,” 

_if he ever recovers_ , he thought, but he left that part out. 

  
Boyd nodded thoughtfully, his mind already making up plans and weighing possibilities. 

“About Kira,” Scott went on, crossing his arms and nodding towards the couch. 

Derek saw Erica raising her head from Kira's chest to listen. 

“The bullet just grazed her side so, luckily, the wound wasn't deep.   
It looked serious because of the amount of blood she was losing, which is the reason she passed out. She should completely recover in a couple of weeks if she rests well and takes the medicines I gave her,”   
Erica was nodding and smiling enthusiastically at Kira like a child. 

Scott sighed and shook his head – sometimes he felt like he was managing a kindergarten. 

“I gave both of them painkillers, so they may feel dizzy and sleepy for some hours. It would be better if they could sleep now.” 

“I'm not sleepy,” Kira protested. 

Erica reached out for Derek with a big smile.   
“Derek!” 

Derek walked to them, just to have his way blocked by Danny. 

“Don't touch her,” he was deadly serious. 

Erica grabbed at Danny's hoodie to calm him down. 

“This isn't Derek's fault!”

“It is! Kira wasn't suited for such a job and he let her go alone!” 

“I was the one who accepted to go with him,” Kira replied, her eyebrows furrowed. 

Erica pulled at Danny's hoodie again. 

“Stop it, please...”

Derek shook his head. “It's alright, I need to go anyway,” he knew he wasn't a welcomed guest for the time being. 

“You're lying,”

Erica's big eyes looked sad. “Derek, you can stay... really... You saved Kira's life, I want to thank y–”

“He was the one putting her in danger in the first place!” Danny retorted, still blocking Derek's way to the couch. 

  
“Rest well,” Derek cut it short, looking at Kira. 

Danny was too affected by the recent events and Derek could understand that.   
He looked around the room and felt like an outcast.

Everyone had just reunited with the people they loved, and nothing else could matter, he could see it written on their faces. 

Derek usually didn't pay attention to such things, but of course it was different now. 

The plan had been carried out perfectly and Jacob was safe. He had nothing to do in New York anymore, at least until he outlined a plan to go and get Kevin Ito. 

What was he supposed to do now? 

The best choice would have been to take the first flight back to Europe, finish off the jobs left on hold and just stay away from America.

But now, looking at the scene in front of him,   
he couldn't help but think about one person: 

Stiles.

He had never contacted Jackson again after that last phone call when he was still in Russia.   
He didn't know how Stiles was doing, if Jackson had managed to convince him to give up, if they had moved somewhere safe. 

Every day he had to hold himself back from calling.  
He knew he was going to give up on everything else and go back to him if only he would hear his voice. 

* Go back to him? Ah, funny, he pitied himself. 

Stiles probably didn't want to see him anymore. Not even his shadow. 

How did he end up like that? 

Becoming subjected to such feelings, to the point where he couldn't hide the fact that he was actually missing Stiles Stilinski. 

Absurd. Unbelievable. 

He didn't recognize himself anymore, and the worst part was that he didn't even care about what he was becoming. 

He just wished he could be holding Stiles like Erica was doing with Kira, or that he could be brushing his fingers against his skin like Boyd was doing with Jacob, or whatever going on between Liam and Scott.

He shook his head in disappointment. 

There was a word for what he was feeling, a word that Peter used to repeat every time Derek let himself linger on such feelings: 

weakness. 

Derek could feel himself slowly becoming someone else, and he still couldn't tell whether it was a good or bad thing. 

Looking back at his life, he would say it couldn't possibly be anything good, because nothing good could ever come out from the kind of life he was leading. 

  
“You're leaving? I'm coming with you,” Scott said, waking him up from his thoughts.

The room suddenly felt too small for him. He wanted to get away from what reminded him of something he could never have.

He nodded, walking out of the room and finding Liam waiting outside. 

He looked annoyed, but perked up as soon as he saw them.

"Derek, where are you staying?" Scott asked.

Derek's head felt dizzy and he couldn't understand a word he was saying, so he chose not to answer.

They left the apartment, and while they were out in the corridor Derek had to lean against the wall because his head was spinning too much and there was a loud noise in his ears.

Scott was immediately beside him. “What happened? 

"Is he wounded too?” He wrapped one arm around his waist to support him.

Liam shook his head. “No, he isn't. I mean, he probably got a few scratches because of the explosion but–”

“And you're telling me just now?”

“He was fine until a moment ago!” Liam protested. 

“I am fine,” Derek murmured, freeing himself from Scott's hold.   
“I just need to go back to the hotel.”

“You're not going to drive in this state,” Scott remarked, stopping him and searching through his pockets, ignoring his protests. 

He took out Derek's car keys and threw them to Liam. 

"You drive, we have to get him back to the hotel. Also I need some more supplies to treat him. ”

Liam nodded and tried to wrap his arm around Derek, but the hitman refused his help. 

He looked at Scott, who was already going down the stairs. 

“I said I'm fine, leave me the fuck alone.” 

“No need to thank me!” was all Scott said without even turning around.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" Scott asked Liam as they settled Derek in the backseat of the car.

Liam was surprised by the sudden question and absentmindedly patted himself down.  
"Nope.... I don't think so.."

"Are you sure or you're choosing to be a dumdum like him and not telling me?"

Liam's face broke into a wide smile. "Aww, you worry about me.!"

Scott scoffed and turned his head towards the window, " No, I just don't want to babysit your annoying whiny ass today."

Liam gave him a toothy smile. " I love you too Scotty."

  
"Just shut up and fucking drive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neven been to New York or USA or whatever. Everything I wrote is based on google. So, I'm sure there's mistakes. Just ignore it. 🙊🙈🙉


	23. Chapter 23

_Peter opened his eyes with effort – a bright light was hitting his eyelids and making him want to roll to his side,_   
_but he soon realized every single movement caused him immense pain so he stayed where he was, lying on his back._

  
_He could smell a weird scent, something resembling flowers or grass. He also felt really cold and wet, and he noticed he was breathing with difficulty._

_His eyes adjusted to the light enough to recognize the blue sky above him, but that wasn't the thing that shocked him the most._

_A few meters above him was a well-stretched red tent, supported by two poles hooked into the wall of the building._

_It looked like those tents one could see outside shops, usually displaying the name of the place in big letters._

_Indeed, there was once a fruit shop at the ground floor of that building, but it had closed long before._

_The tent, of course, looked old and had a big hole in the middle, though the cloth didn't look thin._   
_That was when Peter realized that tent had saved his life, slowing down his fall. There was no way he could have survived otherwise._

_The bushes he was lying on had also helped in terms of reducing the possible traumas. He probably had some broken ribs and one of his arms was also broken for sure, but he was alive._

  
_Then he remembered: Derek had pushed him._

  
_Derek had tried to kill him._

_No. Wait. Derek had killed him._

_That was his intent, he wanted Peter dead. He probably thought of him as dead now._

_Peter slowly dragged himself out of the bushes, hissing at the pain spreading all over his body._   
_He brushed the snow away from his body with the only arm he could use and dragged his feet across the cold ground for some meters, before looking for support against the wall._

_He needed to think that through: first of all, he needed to find a place to stay and recover._   
_He had some contacts, he knew some people who would help him._

_And then..._

_He gritted his teeth, tasting the blood in his mouth._

_The bitter flavor was an actual representation of how he felt inside: blasted, betrayed, broken._

_Derek was the only person he had ever trusted, the only person that counted on him._   
_He had given him a place to stay when he was just a stray dog, he had shared his food and his knowledge with him, he had been like a brother for him._

_But Derek... Derek had failed him. He had to pay._

_That was the only thought in Peter's mind now. Derek had to pay for everything._   
_It didn't matter if it would take his whole lifetime to get back at him, Peter was going to destroy Derek's life like Derek had tried to destroy his._

_An eye for an eye._

_He smirked, finding comfort in the sweet thought of revenge._

_Nothing else mattered now, he just wanted to see Derek's lifeless body lying on the ground in front of his eyes._   
_He wanted to smell his blood and see his intestines strewn on the floor._

_That ungrateful bastard was going to beg for his worthless life._

“I really don't think anyone's here.” 

“Check anyway.” 

The man – black suit and dark brown hair – stepped on some rubble, his lips twitching at the dust rising from the ground.   
His clothes were getting dirty.

He looked around, but the room was just a pile of ruins. The ceiling had disappeared, the light blue sky was now in its place. 

The agent sighed, walking on the pile and looking for any traces, remnants, shreds of body parts or things. It was hard to tell anything apart in that mess.

  
“It's a waste of time,” he pressed his finger against his earbud.   
“It's been almost twenty-four hours.”

“Keep looking. Orders from upstairs.”

“Right,” the man muttered, rolling his eyes. 

They thought they could order him around like a dog just because he was relatively new to the organization, but he had already proved his worth in more than one occasion.   
When were they going to give him more proper jobs? He needed some action. 

“Even if there was someone here yesterday, they would be dead by now,” he murmured to himself, shaking some rubble from his shoe. 

“I'm looking for ghosts,” he shook his head and checked the cracks in the walls that were still standing – he needed to report every detail about that incident. 

He had asked around but no agent seemed to know much about the prisoner they kept there, nor about the jailer – that's how they called him. 

It seemed like no one except the bosses had seen his face, but he had been especially hired for a particular job. 

Apparently, he was precious to the Boss, which was why he needed to check if there was still a chance he could still be alive.

 _I think the Boss will be disappointed_ , he thought, digging his feet in between ruins in order to climb down that huge pile. 

There was nothing else to do there, it was impossible to look for a body without a crane.

He tapped on his earbud. 

“I'm done here, there's nothing and no on- what the fuck?!” 

Something was blocking his ankle, preventing him from walking away. 

The agent looked down and– much to his horror – saw a white hand coming out from under the ruins.  
The color white was mostly because of the huge amount of dust that covered the skin and the shredded sleeve of what once was probably a jacket. 

The slim fingers were grabbing at the man's ankle with ferocity, almost digging the nails in his skin through the fabric. 

The man held back a scream. He thought there wasn't a single thing that could surprise or scare him anymore after getting into the organization, but nothing could have ever prepared him for such a thing. 

“What? What happened?!”   
His partner was screaming in his ear now but he couldn't process a single word. 

He kept staring at the hand grasping at his foot and his mouth went dry, no words forming on his tongue. 

It didn't look real, it wasn't even possible.

  
I found... a ghost.

  
_...._...._

Stiles had been sitting in front of the cardboard box for quite a while now, but he was not tired.

His eyes kept shifting between the stopwatch and his Walther P22 semiautomatic. 

He was basically becoming one body and soul with his weapon – though it was not exactly his, but that was a detail after spending the last few days with it all the time, even putting it under his pillow when he went to sleep. 

Stiles had been training from dawn 'til sunset every day, the only thought in his mind that of improving as much as possible in the shortest period of time. 

Jackson had been asking him to take it easy and get more hours of sleep, but Stiles had an aim in mind and little time to achieve it.

  
“Five minutes!” 

He yelled enthusiastically, grabbing the stopwatch and showing it to Jackson.

The man was lying on a bench for weight lifting, completely soaked in sweat as he worked with a 65kg thick-handled barbell.   
All the muscles of his arms were popping up and all the veins on his neck were exposed. 

He was totally focused on his efforts but he left the training aside as soon as he heard Stiles' voice. 

He sat up, wiping his hands on his gym pants and taking the bottle of water he had left on the ground. He got up and drank half of it in one go while he walked towards Stiles. 

“Five minutes? You're getting fast,” Jackson smiled, his skin covered in small drops of sweat. 

“How many times did you dismantle and reassemble that thing?”

Stiles forgot everything he wanted to say and stared at the man while his mouth slightly dropped.   
The white tank top Jackson was wearing wasn't leaving much to Stiles' imagination, as it was completely wet.   
His collarbones and pectoral muscles were particularly defined and Stiles wondered how long someone had to train to achieve such results.

“Stiles?” 

“Yes,” Stiles said. 

Jackson looked amused.  
“Yes? Do you even know what I said?” 

Stiles opened his mouth, but changed his mind soon after. 

“...No...” he admitted, blushing. 

Jackson sat in front of him and looked at the pistol perfectly assembled in front of him.

“How many times did you do it already?” 

“I stopped counting after the tenth time,” Stiles said, shrugging. “It's kind of fun.” 

Jackson shook his head.  
“You've been doing this non-stop since yesterday afternoon, take a break.” 

“I took it, I spent two hours with the punch bag yesterday and one with the weights,” Stiles recalled, counting on his fingers. 

Jackson wrapped his hand around Stiles' one and looked him straight in the eyes. 

“Exactly. In the last few days your concept of 'break' has become just another way to say 'training'.  
I mean a real break. Eat something, get some hours of sleep.” 

Stiles shook his head. “Can't.”

“Why?”

“I feel like I'm wasting precious time.”

Jackson sighed. “This training wasn't meant to turn you into a professional assassin so you don't need to become one.  
What you've done up until now is more than enough.”

“I still suck with the targets though,” Stiles replied, taking his semiautomatic.

“Which is why I'm going to work on my aim a bit more before dinner, if you don't mind.” 

He got up, grabbed a bunch of magazines from the stockpile and walked away before Jackson could say anything. 

The hitman sighed and took a fresh towel. He would deal with that workaholic after a good shower. 

  
Fifteen minutes and a not-so-warm shower later, Jackson went back to the training area only to find Stiles surrounded by bullets and a couple of targets completely destroyed. 

What surprised him the most was that he didn't hear a single thing, not a single shot.

He got closer to the boy and noticed the silencer. 

“Where did you get that?” He asked, puzzled.

Stiles shot twice at the head of another cardboard man, failing both times. He sighed, looking at his gun, 

“This? I found it among the stocks, I thought it would be useful to learn how to use it. Did I make a mistake?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

  
“No...” Jackson didn't exactly know how to react. 

“I just... I didn't think you knew what that was for. I thought of showing you later on.”

Stiles smirked. “Hey, the fact that I never used a gun doesn't mean I didn't watch any action movies.   
It wasn't hard to understand. I'm not that stupid.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “I never once thought you were stupid...” 

Stiles always come out with stuff like that out of nowhere and Jackson didn't understand why he would think that low of himself.   
Someone must have stepped on his confidence really hard to make him become so unsure and paranoid. 

_Was he so broken inside?_

Stiles loaded another magazine and smiled. 

“I was joking. You should see your face right now, you look so concerned,” he laughed. 

He could read Jackson's face like an open book and he didn't want him to worry.

Jackson mumbled something but didn't reply. He brushed his wet hair with a towel, reaching the small fridge to take a beer can. He checked his wristwatch soon after and decided to take out some instant ramyun as well. 

“It's dinner time,” he shook one of the ramyun cups in Stiles's direction.  
“Let's eat something.” 

“Yeah, just give me a few more minutes,” Stiles replied, carefully taking his aim one more time.

He wanted to accomplish at least one perfect shot before giving up.   
His hands were a bit sweaty around the grip, his index finger applying the slightest pressure on the trigger. His eyes were focused on the black head of the target a few meters away from him.

He could totally do it, he had been training the whole past few days just for that.  
He waited until he felt the rush of adrenaline rising up his spine, then he pulled the trigger without hesitation. 

_Was that how Derek felt every time?_ Stiles thought he could understand why he liked it so much now. 

He felt powerful, he had total control over himself and over his target, he could decide about the life or death of other people. 

It was kind of scary as well. 

_Stiles had it easy with cardboard men, but what about killing some real people?_  
 _Was he really capable of murdering someone? He often wondered about that._

  
The bullet missed the aim for a few millimeters, leaving the fake head intact. Stiles was on the verge of throwing his gun away out of frustration. 

Jackson noticed his mood shift and laughed, walking to stand behind him. 

“The head is actually the hardest to hit, because the surface is way more limited than on the rest of the body,” he explained,   
placing one hand on Stiles's waist and raising the boy's arm with the other, so that Stiles was once again aiming at the target. 

Their bodies were touching and Stiles could feel Jackson's chest against his back, his warm breath on his neck. 

He didn't know what to feel, his heart started beating faster on his own and his hand around the gun became even sweatier. 

Jackson brushed his fingers along Stiles' side, or maybe it was just a hallucination – Stiles was not sure, but it sent shivers up his back. 

He tried to focus on the man's words and forget about the rest, but it wasn't easy.   
Jackson's body was warm and Stiles felt like his wide chest could swallow him whole at any moment.

“If you just want to gain some time, always aim for the shins,” he lowered Stiles' arm with gentle movements, showing him where to point the muzzle. 

“Or instead, if you want to kill, go for the chest. Even if your aim is not perfect, you will still cause a major damage.   
You could possibly miss the heart, but you could hit a lung, or the stomach. It's almost always lethal that way,” he went on, raising Stiles' arm again. 

  
Stiles nodded slowly, a thick fog slowly covering his mind and making it hard to memorize the information.   
There was tension in the air, he was sure they were both having the same feeling. 

Stiles thought Jackson would eventually pull away.   
Instead, Jackson's hand slowly shifted from Stiles' elbow to his hand, covering it completely as their fingers overlapped on the trigger.

“Jax...wh-” Stiles murmured, unsure about the man's intentions.

“Do you mind?” Jackson whispered beside his ear, his warm breath making Stiles shiver. His voice sounded somehow unstable, like he wasn't sure about what he was doing either.

But seeing how Stiles wasn't pulling away, Jackson seemed to gain confidence. His hand was definitely brushing Stiles' waist now, and at some point he grabbed at it, making Stiles turn slightly to the side.

The gun slipped from his hand and fell on the ground with a dull sound. 

  
Jackson cupped Stiles' face with his warm hand, and Stiles felt himself blushing. His heart was pounding against his ribcage now, the way Jackson was looking at him couldn't be described with any word but passionate.

An unknown wave washed over Stiles – could have been panic or bewilderment or both, he didn't know how to call it. He shut his eyes before realizing it, almost by reflex. 

He could feel Jackson getting closer because his breath on his lips was getting warmer and warmer.

He was actually going to kiss him, unlike the last time. 

His hold around Stiles' waist was strong and confident now. He thought Stiles wanted it too. 

  
An alarm rang in Stiles' head. 

_Jackson thought he wanted it, but did he actually want that kiss?_

  
Jackson had craved that moment for so long he couldn't even put it in words.   
His feelings for Stiles had started off almost as a joke, as he would always do with anyone who stimulated his mind.

He liked to tease people, and he was never the one ending up hurt at the end of the games. 

With Stiles, things had took an unexpected turn, and he was now the one at stake. 

He had been holding back all that time, knowing Stiles had feelings for Derek and that those feelings were most probably reciprocated.

But lately, Stiles seemed less and less involved, and Derek had just disappeared.   
Jackson knew Derek was more of a silent type, but that was just ridiculous. He had hurt Stiles and then he had never called again, nor had he sent any messages. 

_How could he behave like that if he really cared about Stiles?_   
No wonder Stiles' feelings for him had been getting colder – or so Jackson thought.

  
So now, having Stiles in his arms, seeing how he was surrendering to him and how he had even closed his eyes, he thought it could finally be his chance. 

He felt his heart in his throat for the first time – before Stiles, he had never even known what that meant.   
He could almost taste the softness of Stiles' lips, but right there and then something happened.

  
Jackson had to stop all of a sudden. Something wasn't right.   
He could hear some muffled sounds coming from Stiles and he opened his eyes, confused. 

What he saw left him paralyzed.

  
Stiles was sobbing, his eyelashes wet with tears and his whole body shaking a little. 

Jackson stared at him for a long time, shocked, puzzled. 

He didn't know what to do and most of all, he didn't understand what he had done wrong. 

He still had his lips a few inches away from the boy's but he didn't dare to move any closer.

Stiles kept his eyes shut, but grabbed at Jackson's shirt in a feeble attempt to stop him while his trembling lips parted to let out a few words. 

  
“ _I love Derek._ ” 

  
It was just a whisper but it seemed to echo on the walls all around them. 

Jackson closed his eyes, something sinking in his chest slowly and silently, drowning inside him, never to come up again. 

Stiles lowered his face and shook his head, still grabbing at Jackson's shirt. He kept his eyes shut, letting some tears drop to the ground. 

He couldn't believe what he had just said. It had been so natural, it almost scared him.   
The words had just rolled off his tongue like he had kept them inside that whole time. 

_Why?_

_Why Derek, after all he had done?_

He didn't have an answer, his heart had spoken for itself and he could do nothing but accept it. 

He couldn't ignore the deep relief he had felt as soon as the words had left his mouth. 

It was true, he loved Derek. There was nothing else to say. 

  
Jackson pulled away with a jerk, turning his back to Stiles and taking a few steps away from him. He ran a hand through his hair, nervously, while Stiles opened his eyes to look at him. 

  
“Jax...” he tried, feeling like the worst human being on Earth.   
“I'm so sorry...I'm sorry, I'm–” 

“The training is over,” Jackson cut him off, keeping his back on him.  
“We're going back to the city tomorrow.” 

  
Stiles felt his stomach drop while he looked at the slumped shoulders of the man in front of him.  
He knew he had unwillingly lead Jackson on and he regretted being so blunt about his confession.

He really felt like the worst of friends. 

He carefully got closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jax, I'm really sorry, I don't know why–” he bit his lower lip, stopping himself from lying any further. 

He knew exactly why he had said those words and it was because that was what he felt inside his heart.   
There were no excuses and there was no use in denying it now.

Jackson faced him, gently removing Stiles's hand from his shoulder.   
He sighed. 

“Don't worry, I already knew. But I was selfish... It was my fault for putting you in an uncomfortable situation.” 

Stiles shook his head vigorously. “It wasn't uncomfortable, I was confused and–” 

“You still say his name in your dreams.”

Stiles' eyes widened in shock. He stared at Jackson, at a loss for words. Jackson smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.

He looked dejected. 

Stiles had no reply for that and Jackson didn't want to hear one. He shook his head in defeat.

“Pack your stuff.” 

He gave his back to the boy again and walked away. 

  
_...._...._

Derek drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes never leaving the figure in front of him.

It was a sunny day and it was comfortably warm outside. The weather seemed to go along with the course of the events: the past week had been quiet, almost too quiet for Derek's standards.

He felt like he had lived the last few months in a rush and it was weird to actually have some time to relax. 

But Derek wasn't the type to just stand still. Actually, he hated it.   
Spending the past seven days in an anonymous hotel room with nothing to do except dealing with his thoughts had almost made him go crazy.

The room was extremely bright – big windows on the east side and white walls were the perfect combination for anyone who wanted to achieve that kind of effect. 

  
Derek looked at the thick silver ring around his thumb. The light reflected on it as well, almost blinding him at some angles.   
His fingers lingered on the brim of the white mug in front of him while he stole looks at the other side of the table. 

  
Boyd was sipping his coffee in silence, his eyes lost somewhere on the surface of the kitchen table they both sat at. 

He didn't look quite like himself: instead of his usual baggy or expensive clothes, he just wore a plain white t-shirt and black shorts.   
He also had bed hair and dark bags under his eyes. 

He looked stressed, but Derek didn't expect anything different. 

He slipped one hand in the pocket of his ripped jeans and licked his lips, 

“How's he?” 

It wasn't a conversation if none of them talked and Derek figured out he had to be the one making the first step. 

“Recovering,” Boyd shrugged, he looked exhausted.

“He's staying in that private clinic Scott told me about. I'm thinking of buying some property out of the city and let him move there, so he can live in peace.”

Derek kept tracing the brim of the mug without drinking the coffee.

“What do the doctors say?”

“What do you think?” Boyd met Derek's eyes. 

“They say the trauma is probably permanent and his mental health is compromised.   
Even if he recovers from that, it'll take a long time and lots of work.” He sighed, his voice hoarse and weak. 

  
Derek leaned forward, fixing the edge of his blue t-shirt and finally taking a sip of his coffee.

“Are you going to stay with him?” 

Boyd's lips curved into a crooked smile. He had his eyes on the table again and Derek noticed his fingers were slightly trembling around the mug.

“I don't think he wants to see me again,” he took another sip from his coffee and swallowed with effort.

“During one of his breakdowns he started throwing stuff at me, blaming me for everything,” his eyes got watery.   
“They had to tie him down to make him stop. He is not fine, Derek, and it's all my fault for being too naïve and careless.”

  
Derek didn't know what to say. He had indeed expected a similar outcome – there was no way Jacob could be fine after being kept prisoner by Peter for several days.

He looked at Boyd, aware of his inability to comfort anyone. 

  
“I'm thinking of giving up on the business,” Boyd admitted after some moments of silence. 

That was something Derek didn't expect and it left him speechless.   
He stared at Boyd in complete silence, until the other man met his eyes and laughed.

“Don't make that face, I've been thinking about it since Peter paid me that very nice visit,” he tapped his fingers on the mug, nervously.

“I made a lot of money, I can live well even if I wrap it up here. I think I was never suited for this job in the first place,” he sighed, biting his lower lip like he was trying to hold himself back. 

Derek waited, feeling that he had something else to say. 

Eventually, Boyd added, “I honestly just want to stay by his side. Even if he doesn't want me, I want to take care of him and do anything in my power to make him feel better.” 

Derek looked down at his own knees. It was hard to look at Boyd without feeling guilty. It was his fault if Peter had come to hunt them down in the first place; also, the man's words made him think about Stiles and all his faults. 

Boyd seemed to read his mind, because he leaned forward and tried to meet Derek's eyes.

“Derek,” he began, “if there's something I learned from this experience, it's that nothing – nothing – is more important than the people we love.  
I never had anyone before Jacob, and now I feel like I can only keep breathing as long as he does.

I should have protected him better, but I failed and I will regret it for the rest of my life. Please don't make my same mistake.” 

  
“I won't,” Derek replied in a low tone. 

He didn't like people lecturing him, but he felt like Boyd had the right to, this time. 

  
“And whatever is holding you back, forget it,” Boyd went on. “There may come a day you will regret every minute spent away from him.” 

Derek wondered if his face was becoming an open book. Everyone seemed to know about Stiles, even though he himself was still confused about his own feelings.   
He suddenly felt exhausted. He was not suited for long conversations. 

He reached out and patted Boyd's shoulder a couple of times. 

“For what it's worth,” he smirked. “You were not that bad of a dealer.” 

  
Boyd smiled. “Fuck you.”

  
_...._...._

It didn't matter how many times he looked at it, that door remained closed. 

There was no sound coming from the inside, and the only sound in the apartment was the one coming from the TV he was – not – watching.

Jackson sighed and looked outside the window: it was a sunny day, but not even the weather could lift his mood. 

It had been a week since they came back home, and Stiles had spent most of his time locked in his room. 

Jackson didn't know what he was doing in there, but he guessed not much since there was nothing to do. 

Jackson had the feeling he was giving him his space after rejecting his unspoken confession. Stiles probably thought Jackson didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore and that he only stayed there because Derek asked him to.

  
But it wasn't like that.   
It was true that Jackson wasn't in his best shape, but he wasn't the type to make a big fuss about it either. 

Deep in his heart he already knew Stiles wasn't going to choose him, and his priority was still protecting the boy.   
Not to mention, he liked Stiles's company. 

They mostly met to eat together, and sometimes they also watched TV together and made some conversation, but that was pretty much it. Stiles had been getting darker and more silent as more days went by.  
Jackson wondered if it was because Derek still hadn't sent a single message. 

He didn't expect the man to get in contact with them, but he hoped he would. As much as Jackson wanted to protect Stiles, he also wanted to know what to do next. 

_Was Derek working on the organization or was he still lost somewhere in Europe?_

_Was Jackson supposed to go after Kevin Ito alone, at this point?_

He was totally ready to do it – Stiles couldn't live caged in that flat forever. 

  
_Are you having fun in Europe, dickhead?_

_You better bring your ass back to New York, now._   
  
_S has a gun and knows how to use it._

_I'm warning you just in case you're planning to play asshole again. He's going to kick your ass._

_– J_

Jackson looked at the message and shook his head. 

It wasn't a good idea to tell Derek he had trained Stiles without letting him know. He deleted a few lines and tried once more. 

  
_Are you having fun in Europe, dickhead?_

_You better bring your ass back to New York , now._

_Do you at least have a plan to get out of this shit?_   
  
_– J_

  
He groaned and deleted the whole message again. 

He wondered why he was always the one desperately trying to get in contact with Derek. It should have been all the contrary.   
Derek was the one on the run, the one messing up stuff and people.  
Jackson sighed. 

  
_Derek, you seriously need to come back._

_It's been long enough already._

_– J_

  
“What are you doing?” 

Jackson jolted and hid his phone behind his back without a reason.   
When he realized what he was doing, he felt the need to punch himself.

Stiles was standing in front of him, one eyebrow raised. 

“Nothing, just checking some mails,” he replied, taking his phone out again.   
He quickly deleted the message for Derek and locked the screen. 

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, looking around uncomfortably. He had been acting like that around Jackson for a whole week and the hitman was getting more and more frustrated. 

“Did you need to tell me something?” He pushed, taking in the boy's figure: Stiles had bed hair and wore a long-sleeved white shirt over the usual gray pants he always had at home.   
He looked gorgeous in his simplicity. 

Jackson shook those thoughts out of his head while Stiles formulated an answer.

“Actually... I thought it could be nice to have chicken and beer for dinner?” He cracked a smile. 

“I've heard they're showing some movie marathon on TV tonight and I thought we could watch it together while having dinner.” 

  
Jackson was taken aback by the offer. It actually sounded like a nice idea but he would have never expected Stiles to do such a move, not after how he had avoided him for the whole week.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Sure... I can go now if you're already hungry.” 

Stiles nodded vigorously, gesture that made Jackson even more confused.

The boy noticed his doubtful expression and quickly explained, “I didn't eat much today, sorry...”

Jackson smiled. “Don't worry, I'll go right away,” 

He got up and grabbed his jacket from the couch.   
“It shouldn't take long, I should be back in an hour at most, alright?” 

Stiles nodded, already waving at him. 

“I'll keep my hunger under control 'til then,” he smiled.

Jackson walked out the door and felt actually relieved for the first time in the whole week. 

_...._...._

There was something extremely relaxing in the sound of flowing water.   
Some people said a hot shower could soothe one's heart and soul. 

Derek didn't know if he had any of that, but certainly he felt some effect. 

He had been staying in the same position for some long minutes now: one hand flat against the wall along with his forehead, and eyes closed. The water flowed down his naked body, soaking his hair and forming a small pool at his feet before disappearing into the drain. 

It was an endless cycle and Derek had lost track of time.  
Everything in his hotel room was extremely comfortable. His bathroom especially, with its large bathtub along with the shower box. 

But Derek found everything too big, which was weird for his standards. He usually liked wide bathtubs, they relaxed him, but now they just looked like a waste of space.   
They weren't suited for one person alone, so it made no sense to use them. 

He exhaled a long breath through his nose, his lips becoming a tight line like he had tasted something extremely sour. 

  
Here he was again, feeling lonely. 

He hated it. 

There was a time he felt perfectly fine with being by himself, but it seemed like everything he once was had disappeared. 

He had started to refer to his life before that whole mess as the 'old' Derek.

The old Derek would love empty hotel rooms and being left alone in absolute silence with his thoughts;   
the new Derek could still hear the echo of a sweet laughter in his ear and missed it. 

The old Derek would never ever be affected by anything and anyone, no matter the situation;   
the new Derek found in every little thing something that reminded him of a certain boy.

  
Derek bumped his head against the wall, wishing for those thoughts to go away.   
He felt so frustrated with himself, angry at himself, sorry for himself. Every day of the past week had been filled with those kind of thoughts, to the point where Derek couldn't even stand his own self anymore. 

The scene at Danny's apartment kept coming back to haunt him: seeing everyone reunited with their loved ones had a great impact on him somehow,   
something that wouldn't have happened to the 'old Derek'. 

It made him realize he didn't want to live his life like that, always being alone, never having someone to share his everyday life with.

The horrible truth was, after having a taste of what his life could be like with Stiles by his side, he just couldn't adjust himself to live without him anymore. 

And it hurt. It really hurt badly somewhere inside his chest, where he had always thought there was just a black hole.

He let out a low growl and bumped his fist against the wall repeatedly, with anger and desperation. 

He had lived almost thirty years of his life without ever being fully human, 

why was he changing now? 

What was he doing? 

Why now, after he had lost Stiles forever? 

Trying to make order within his thoughts only caused him a bigger headache. The mere fact that he was still in New York after a whole week, doing nothing but torturing himself, proved how much he secretly wanted to go back to him. 

What was he waiting for? 

An excuse to go and check his apartment? 

Or maybe a message from Jackson that he knew wasn't going to come? 

So pitiful. 

He slammed his hand against the wet tiles once more, shaking his head, water dripping from his chin, big drops caught in his long eyelashes as he kept his eyes closed. 

There was no way he could do that. Absolutely no way. He needed to accomplish the job he had been paid for and then disappear and leave Stiles to his new life. 

That was the plan. 

  
(The old Derek loved big bathtubs; the new Derek thought big bathtubs were a waste of space if he couldn't share that space with Stiles Stilinski.)

  
_...._...._

The first alarm rang in Jackson's head when he opened the door to find the flat in complete darkness, the moonlight coming from the windows being the only source of light. 

He took some careful steps inside, the only sound was the rustling of the plastic bags he was holding– fried chicken still perfectly hot and a 6-pack of beer cans. 

  
“Stiles?” He called out. 

His voice echoed on the walls for a split second, then everything was silent again. 

  
* Maybe he's just sleeping , Jackson told himself, but he still couldn't help his heart from beating faster and faster as he reached for the door to Derek's old room. 

He grabbed at the door frame like his life depended on it and looked inside, his eyes frantically searching the room. 

It was empty. 

In a haze, he checked the small bathroom inside the room, and then he ran to the other bathroom connected to the living room. 

  
Stiles was nowhere to be found. 

Jackson could already feel cold sweat down his nape. He dropped the bags on the floor and turned on the light, looking around the room: 

everything was exactly like he had left it, no sign of fight, no item was out of place. 

The door hadn't been forced either. 

No one had burst into the apartment to take Stiles away. 

  
At that point, Jackson started to feel tricked. 

He recalled Stiles' weird behavior when he was asking him to go out and buy dinner.   
He seemed eager to get rid of Jackson for whatever reason, and now he had disappeared – most probably on his own will. 

  
He bit his lower lip and ran a hand through his hair, nervousness filling every inch of him inside. He needed to stay calm and think. 

Why would Stiles run away? 

Was he so insane to go and look for Derek on his own? 

Impossible.

  
Just then, something caught his attention. 

There was a piece of paper on the kitchen table, Stiles' mug placed on it. 

Jackson ripped it out from under it, already knowing he was not going to like whatever was written on there. 

It was a simple piece of paper with Stiles' messy handwriting on it, along with some coffee stains. A few words scribbled in black ink demanded to be read. 

Jackson devoured the whole message in a second, his eyes reading every word over and over.

“Shit,” he said, not wanting to believe his eyes. 

  
“SHIT!” 

  
He crumpled the piece of paper in his fist, his hand shaking violently. 

A moment later he was running out of the door.

  
_Jax, I'm really sorry I lied to you but there was no other way._

_I knew you would try to stop me and I didn't want you to._

_I need to settle this thing on my own, once and for all._

_I'm sorry. Good bye._

_– Stiles._


	24. Chapter 24

Jackson knew he had reached his limit. 

Everything inside and outside of him hurt.   
His legs threatened to give up on him any moment now, but he still carried himself around another corner, running as fast as he could.

His lungs refused to work, every breath felt like inhaling fire. He was well-trained, but it was too much even for him. 

His heart hurt, but he was not sure whether it was for the effort or for another reason. He leaned against the brick wall of a tall building, trying to catch his breath. 

He didn't know where else to look. He felt like he was running in circles, exploring every possible path Stiles could have taken after leaving the apartment, but to no avail. 

Stiles had disappeared, and Jackson feared he could have taken a bus or a taxi.   
In that case, there was no way he could know where he was going, and it also meant Stiles could already be far away from there. 

He punched the wall in frustration and shook his head. 

_Why, just why would Stiles do something so stupid?_

The message left no doubt about Stiles' intentions. 

_Was he really convinced he could make it alone?_

Jackson regretted training him. He felt incredibly stupid, he should have known about Stiles' intentions the very moment he had asked to be trained. 

It explained his determination and the weird things he would sometimes whisper under his breath. 

It wasn't for self-defense – he was looking for revenge.

  
The man now understood why human contact was such a problem in their field. He had let his feelings for Stiles blind him, to the point where not only hadn't he sensed his intentions in time, but he had also let Stiles fool him so easily into leaving him alone at the apartment. 

He felt like the biggest idiot on earth, but there was no time to whine over his stupidity. If Stiles was heading to where Jackson thought he was, it could already be too late. 

He turned on his heels and resolved he had to go home and try to find some clues about Stiles' destination.

Ignoring his aching lungs, Jackson ran back to the apartment as fast as possible, almost barging into the place. 

  
He almost expected – hoped – to find Stiles there, a smiling face and a _'I just went out to buy more beers'_ waiting for him. 

But it wasn't like that – darkness and silence were the only things that welcomed him back home.

He looked around the half-messy room, but there was nothing different from how he had left it not long before. 

He reached Stiles' door frame with careful steps, before realizing there was no need to be cautious. His senses were fooling him again, making him feel the danger where there was none.

Jackson sighed. He was losing his mind, he needed to get back on track. 

Stiles' room was tidy, the bed made and no items around except a couple of books on the nightstand. There was literally nothing in it that could give Jackson a clue about Stiles' plan.

Jackson cursed under his breath and fished out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, resolving to get in contact with the only person who could help him get Stiles out of that mess before it was too late.

  
_3 days earlier:_

  
Stiles looked at the phone screen.

That was the emergency phone Derek had given him when things were still peaceful and under control.

He smiled at the thought. 

The fact that he considered “peaceful” a time when he lived with a bloody killer – in constant fear of men barging into the apartment to take him away,   
wondering what was worse between dealing with that unpredictable, ruthless man and his dark soul or not knowing what was going to become of him if Kevin's men were ever to find his whereabouts – said it all about how fucked up his current situation was. 

That phone was his, now. Or so Stiles supposed. 

Derek was not there to check on his precious phone anyway. 

His thumb hesitated on the keyboard. He swallowed hard, his hand slightly shaking. 

He threw the phone on his bed and started pacing the room from side to side. He undid the first two buttons of his white shirt and ran a hand through his hair while he glanced at the door. 

It was closed, as he had left it. He knew Jackson was on the other side of that door, probably watching TV judging from the sounds coming from the living room. 

He wondered if the man suspected him, since he had been locking himself in that room for days, barely speaking to him. 

Jackson probably thought it was because of the almost-kiss – he probably thought that Stiles felt uncomfortable with him. 

However, it wasn't exactly like that. 

Stiles was indeed bothered by that memory, but he had no time to really linger on that or to even feel guilty about leading Jackson on. Even though he didn't.

Those were thoughts only normal people were allowed to have. 

Stiles had stopped considering himself a normal person– he was way too immersed in that dark world now. 

He had no time to waste on such things, and as much as he felt bad about it, Jackson's feelings were not an exception. 

  
He bit his lower lip and looked at the gun resting on his pillow. He had been thinking about the same thing since the very first day of training. 

He knew he had to solve the situation by himself, while Derek was away.

He hoped the hitman was still in Europe, it meant he was safe and that Stiles could carry out his plan without fearing any backlash on him.

He rested his back against the wall and looked out of the window, exhaling a long sigh with his hands in his pockets.

No, it was not true. 

He didn't hope that. He hoped Derek was there, with him. 

He was always near his heart, but Stiles needed the hitman to be near him as well. 

At least, that was what his heart wanted. 

His brain knew it was better if Derek really was still in Europe. His plan was not really detailed, but it could probably work.   
And even if it didn't work properly, Stiles was still positive he could somehow solve the situation or at least cause a big damage. 

He had everything ready because there was nothing he needed except his gun and a good dose of stamina. 

Now, he just needed to make that call. 

  
He took a deep breath and harshly grabbed his phone from the bed. He looked at the bright screen for a long moment, then he let his fingers run over the keyboard, dialing a number he knew all too well.

The few seconds that followed, marked by anonymous beeps, were probably the longest in Stiles' life. 

Then, someone picked up on the other side of the line. 

It was a voice Stiles thought he would never hear again. 

_“Who's this?”_

  
Stiles' knees trembled a little but he managed to keep himself in place. 

He cleared his throat, making sure his voice wouldn't give him away.

“It's me,” 

he knew the other man immediately got his identity, but he still added: “Stiles.”

There was silence on the other side. When the man spoke again, Stiles could hear the amusement in his voice.

 _“Stiles,”_

the satisfaction along which his name rolled off the tongue of the other man made Stiles'. stomach twist in disgust. 

_“Finally. I've been waiting for your call.”_

Stiles tried to hide his shock at that. 

“Yeah... It was always meant to be like this, wasn't it?”   
He attempted a crooked smile, though the other couldn't see him.

“Let's settle this thing between us, Kevin.” 

  
A brief laugh rang in Stiles' ear. He was feeling sick.

 _“It's all I have ever wanted,”_ the man sounded extremely relaxed.  
 _“We could have avoided all these problems baby... You could have spared that poor man – what was his name again? Ah, Derek... You could have spared him many issues.”_

Stiles shook his head, almost forgetting that Kevin couldn't see him. 

“He's not here anymore. I fired him long ago. It's between us now.” 

Stiles' voice hung on the line as Kevin took his time to think before replying. Stiles didn't know what he was thinking about, but he could tell the man was deliberating something. 

When he spoke again, his voice sounded even more pleased.

_“I have different news... So many wasted lives, such a pity.”_

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. 

_What was he talking about?_

“What do you mean–” 

_“We should totally meet, Stiles, baby. Can I invite you for a dinner? Just the two of us, like the old times.”_

Stiles held his breath. He didn't expect the call to go like that, but he could just play along with it now.   
He doubted Kevin's every single word, but he didn't care. 

A dinner was the perfect excuse to spill all his venom before finally freeing the world from Kevin's existence.

His grip got tighter around the phone. He glanced once again at his gun and took a deep breath. 

“Sure. Just tell me when and where.” 

_“ Park Hyatt Hotel, Friday night. I'll send you further details via message to this number.”_

  
Stiles shivered. This doesn't sound like a romantic date at all, he thought ironically. 

Kevin's voice had lost all of its fake sweetness, he was now back at being the cold man he actually was.

  
“I'll be there.” He hung up, feeling exhausted. All his strength abandoned him. 

The phone slipped from his hands and fell on the soft mattress; his legs gave up on him and he found himself on the floor. 

He grabbed at the blanket, feeling nauseous.

He had just talked with the person he loathed the most in the whole world, the person who had destroyed his life.

The painful memories of what Kevin had done to him came back to haunt his mind all at once.

The room started spinning and Stiles dragged himself across the floor on his hands and knees, reaching the small bathroom connected to his bedroom and barely making it to the toilet bowl before throwing up. 

He panted, grabbing at the bowl with both hands, his arms shaking.   
_I can do this_ , he told himself, I can do this. He truly believed his words.

Not a single tear rolled down his cheeks, but it took some minutes and one more retching before he started to feel in control of himself again.

He got up and went to the sink, washing his face and hands, not caring about wetting some of his hair in the process. 

He looked at himself in the mirror: he was as pale as ever, dark bags under his eyes and water dripping down his chin. But his eyes – his eyes showed pure determination.

  
 _I'll be there_. 

  
_...._...._

Derek wiped his lips with a napkin, made a ball out of it and threw it in the direction of the trash can a few meters away from him – hitting, it goes without saying, the target. 

The sun was setting and the temperature was finally getting a bit colder.   
It had been a very warm day, and the air carried the scent of spring.

Only a few people were able to recognize such a smell, and Derek wasn't among them. He patted his leather jacket until he found the pocket where he kept the cigarettes.   
He squeezed the box to push one up and took it directly between his lips.

He fished out the lighter as well and lit the cigarette up, keeping one hand in front of it to prevent the breeze from putting it off. He left the lighter on the table and looked around. 

  
He was sitting outside a convenience store, at a round plastic table like the several others that were disposed in front of the entrance. A small fence separated the tables from the road. 

The structure of the soil there formed a small hill just where the store was built and the place itself was far away from the main center of the city, so Derek had the city spread out in front of him. 

He could see the sun setting behind skyscrapers and the first lights on the highways. 

He dropped some ashes into the empty cup of noodles in front of him. He had grown tired of the expensive dishes he had been served at the hotel, and decided he needed to get out from the four walls of his suite. 

  
His bike was sitting outside the fence. He lifted his chin and released the smoke over his head, his mind lost in deep thoughts as always. 

Why did he choose that spot, out of all places?

Derek knew that convenience store was only half an hour away from his old apartment. With his bike, he could be there in twenty minutes if there was no traffic. 

Why should I go there? 

  
He took another puff and exhaled some more smoke, his eyes unfocused to the sky. 

His tickets were ready since days. He could take any flight, any moment.   
He just needed to pack his stuff and go straight to the airport. 

Still, he was there, looking at the outlines of New York like he had never seen the city before, his feet as heavy as lead.  
It was the first time he actually felt chained to that city, but he knew he needed to cut that act short. 

He was starting to truly dislike himself. 

He shook some ashes off his white tee, forgetful of the cigarette burning out between his fingers. 

He dropped it in the noodle cup and lit up another as his phone started ringing. 

  
Derek looked at the flashing screen on the table as he took a puff from the cigarette and almost choked on the poisonous smoke. 

Jackson.

He accepted the call before even thinking about it. Only to regret it a moment after. 

He had just finished telling himself that he didn't want to stay in New York and now he was answering Jackson's call as if he was desperately waiting for a reason to not go. 

Jackson's voice reminded him that it was too late to decline now. 

  
“ _Derek_ ” 

His voice was perfectly calm, but Derek immediately got on alert mode.   
He knew Jackson well enough to hear the badly-hidden agitation in his tone. 

He brought the phone to his ear without saying anything. 

_“Derek,”_ Jackson repeated, then Derek heard him cursing under his breath. 

_“Shit. I don't even know why I'm calling you. If you're not in New York there's nothing you can do about this and it's already too late.”_

Jackson had Derek's complete attention now.

  
“What happened?” He spoke in hushed tones, looking around. 

He suddenly felt a shiver running up his spine for no reason. 

“I'm in New York,” he admitted.

He expected Jackson to do a long rant for not telling him he was back, for not keeping in contact and most of all for not asking about Stiles's conditions. 

Derek was prepared to hear all that and he probably deserved Jackson's harsh words. 

But Jackson's next words weren't harsh. 

They were simply the most terrifying words Derek never wished to hear. 

  
_“Stiles,”_

he wasn't doing anything to hide his agitation now. 

_“I think Stiles is meeting up with Kevin, tonight. And he's alone.”_

  
The half-consumed cigarette slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground, as Derek stared into space. 

His lips twitched – he had heard wrong, for sure. 

There was a mistake. 

He was imagining things. 

Stiles was safe. At home, where he had left him. 

Safe. 

Away from him, away from his monsters. 

Safe.

It just wasn't happening.

  
He clasped at his phone, his fingers white in the effort. He could feel the furious beating of his heart in his ear and the breeze hitting his cold features.  
It all felt too real to be a nightmare.   
It was happening.

  
“Where is he?” 

It sounded more like a growl. His hand was shaking, his eyes were losing focus. 

The thought of Stiles in the hands of that man was slowly sinking in and Derek was about to lose that little sanity he had left. 

_“I don't know, that's the problem. He ran away while I was out and I have no idea where he's going!”_  
Jackson's breathing was irregular. 

_“Derek, I'm sorry, I should have kept an eye on him but I couldn't imagine–”_

  
Derek got up with a jerk and kicked away the plastic table, breathing heavily, choking on his own breaths.

The worst case scenario. 

Stiles being alone with Kevin was the worst case scenario, something that was never supposed to happen, and it was happening. 

The worst case scenario Derek could imagine was about to happen and he was not there to protect Stiles. 

_“Derek? Are you still there?!”_

Derek couldn't hear Jackson's words. His mind was far away from there and in a matter of seconds, everything around him was swiped away by his fury.   
He suddenly heard the screams of the owner of the store, but it only sounded like a confused background noise to him. 

The man didn't have the courage to face him so he locked himself in his shop, reaching for the phone to call the police. 

  
In a remote corner of his mind, Derek was aware of what was happening around him, but he didn't care. 

Everything – everything he had done up until that moment was meant to keep Stiles away from danger.

Meant to keep him alive, to protect him. 

Derek had thought being away from him could only help Stiles recover and find peace, but he could see now how stupid his plan had been.

  
* _“I want you to give up on Kevin”_

_“I won't give up on anything, you know why I need to do it.”_

_“I won't let you go on with this madness!”_

_“You asked me to do it in the first place.”_

_“And now I'm asking you to give up!”_ *

That memory hit him like lightning. 

Was that it? 

Was that the reason why Stiles had decided to go alone? 

He thought he had to do it on his own, so that Derek wouldn't have to?

  
Was Stiles harboring such thoughts since that day? 

Maybe he had planned it long before. And Derek had just run away, where he couldn't keep an eye on him,

just when Stiles' mind was taking such a dangerous path. 

He had left him alone with his pain and troubles.

Derek's mind went blank. 

  
On the other side of the line, Jackson could hear everything, yet at the same time he also had no idea what was happening. 

There were sounds of broken glass and heavy things hitting the ground, but no words from Derek. 

No matter how many times he called his name, Derek wasn't answering. 

He wondered if Derek was having one of his attacks. 

He regretted telling him about Stiles on the phone, he should have done it in person, so as to keep the situation under control. 

  
“Derek!” He tried again, but no avail. 

He already knew there was no other way than waiting for Derek to calm down, he had experienced it many times before.

After a couple of minutes, all the noises stopped.

Jackson was left listening to the complete silence that suddenly fell wherever Derek was. 

He tried to make out anything that could help him understand if Derek was fine or not, but he could barely hear him panting, quickly and loudly, as if he was having a hard time channeling air in his lungs. 

The phone seemed to be away from him, maybe he had dropped it on the ground. 

  
Jackson stayed silent, waiting for Derek to come back to his senses.  
He thought that silence could only mean that his fury had calmed down and that he was slowly regaining control of himself. 

Instead, Jackson heard a single sound slowly rising from that silence, breaking the veil of stillness and giving him goosebumps. 

It was a low growl – he didn't know how else to describe it. 

The growl quickly became louder and louder, then stopped all of a sudden. 

A single moment of silence followed it, and then Jackson heard it. 

The scream.

It sounded like an angry beast trapped in a cage and desperately trying to escape – that kind of frightening roar. 

A deafening mix of anger and desperation. 

  
Jackson had never heard Derek scream before. And as if that wasn't shocking enough, he sounded so broken, like a wounded animal.

Jackson felt the cold down to his bones. It was a side of Derek he had never witnessed and at this point he didn't know what to expect from him anymore.

The scream echoed in Jackson's ears even after Derek had fallen silent again. 

It was a sound he was never going to forget anyway, it was marked in his mind like fire.

Jackson heard some scratching sound and then Derek's heavy breathing was right against the receiver. He had picked up the phone. 

Far away in the background, Jackson could hear police sirens approaching. 

Then the line went dead.

  
_...._...._

The first sound was that of a faint rustling, like someone was going through some papers.   
There was no strong light hitting his eyelids and he had no idea what time of the day it was. 

One by one, other sounds came adding to that first : a steady beep over his head, muffled voices outside the room, an alarm going off somewhere every now and then. 

Peter opened his eyes to a white ceiling that looked familiar to him.   
The fluorescent lights were off and the room was immersed in the warm sunlight, though the shades of pink and orange on the walls told him that it was probably either dawn or sunset.

  
His senses were already on alert, although he wasn't in the condition to fight anyone or to even move from that hospital bed. 

Something was tightly wrapped around his forehead and he had an annoying collar around his neck that limited his movements. 

Not to mention the cast around his right leg – it felt heavy as he tried to move it.   
Every inch of his body was aching, and he imagined that the pain was probably nothing compared to what he would feel without the morphine they had surely given him. 

All in all, he considered himself lucky for being alive. 

He could foresee he was going to need a long time to recover, but he could still be back on track.   
He still had a job to accomplish and... His eyes widened.

  
He suddenly remembered that he had already woken up once in that bed, but he was so weak that he had almost immediately fallen back into a deep slumber, probably because of the medicines. 

But he remembered some voices talking around his bed and he could swear someone was talking about The Nogitsune.   
Of course, who else could be behind his recovery in what looked like a really expensive hospital room? 

“Guess I wasted my money,” came a voice from the right side of his bed. 

It was out of the blue and it puzzled him. 

Peter turned his head to the side with effort and spotted Kevin Ito sitting on a luxurious armchair in the corner.   
He was going through the newspaper, which explained the sound of rustling he had heard a moment before. 

He swallowed, his throat was completely dry and even just breathing was painful, but he still tried to come up with some words.

“What... doing...”

  
Kevin lowered the newspaper to look at the man for the first time.

“What am I doing here? Checking on my purchase, of course,” he joked, though he didn't sound the least amused. 

He folded the newspaper carefully, almost obsessively, his every movement seemed calculated.   
Then he put it away and stared deeply at Peter.

  
“I've heard you had woken up,” he explained, not really inclined to giving further details. 

“I must say I'm very disappointed in your doing.”

Peter swallowed again. He wasn't scared –   
actually, he was more annoyed by the fact that he couldn't speak properly and reply to that pretentious penguin. 

_White suit, fine shirt, expensive shoes... Was he going to some fashion show?_

Peter found him ridiculous. 

  
“Next time...” he put in all his efforts, though every breath scratched the back of his throat. 

“I will... get... him.” He meant it with every fiber of his being. 

Derek had been lucky, just that. Peter still had plenty of time to take him down. 

  
Kevin didn't flinch. He kept staring at the man lying on that hospital bed, those empty eyes staring back at him.   
He didn't look as frightening now, he just looked like any other patient in that building.

Kevin smiled, “I knew you would say that,” he admitted, crossing his legs and placing his intertwined fingers on his knee with slow and relaxed movements. 

He looked completely at ease.

“And I was going to give you a second chance because, unlike all the useless people I have under me, you actually achieved some result.   
You were the only one who was able to actually drag this... Derek into a trap, though the outcome has been – as I said – very disappointing.” 

  
Peter closed his eyes and clenched his fists. 

He felt extremely frustrated already and if that man was going to repeat the word 'disappointment' or any of its derivatives once again, he didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew he was going to lose his mind.

Kevin Ito had come to the hospital just to tell him he was going to give him a second chance?

How nice of him. 

As if Peter didn't know already – of course Kevin Ito needed him. 

Peter knew he had the upper hand, no need for all that tantrum.   
He was going to recover and end Derek's life once and for all.   
That was the plan and had always been. He was already savoring the moment. 

He had promised to destroy Derek's life completely, and that of course meant starting from the ones he loved. 

Derek could go on for centuries denying he had someone he cared about, but Peter knew better. He was going to start by --

  
“But lately, some things have changed,”

Kevin suddenly went on, brushing some invisible dust from his knee and resting his back against the armchair again. 

He waited for Peter to look at him, he wanted to be sure to have his utmost attention. 

Peter didn't like the tone in the man's voice. He slowly turned his head again, waking up from his thoughts.   
Apparently, his fantasies about revenge could wait.   
He first needed to understand where Kevin Ito was going. 

  
Kevin smiled again. Peter knew that kind of smile. 

It wasn't a real smile – it was just a crack opening on the man's face, and it was completely emotionless.   
Peter was sure of it because he smiled like that too. 

It's impossible to do a real smile when you're an empty shell, a shadow of a human being.   
You can't show happiness when you have no feelings. 

  
Peter's eyes narrowed at that sight. That man was planning something he was not going to like.

Kevin was still smiling. 

“Your services are no longer needed,” he finally said. 

Peter's eyes went wide. _What was that penguin saying?_

_Was he out of his mind?_

_How was he planning to catch Derek without his help?_

_Was he trying to take his prey away from him?_

  
“You're... not going to...” he coughed and his throat hurt even more. He felt like his insides were on fire. 

“...Derek... without– without me...” 

  
“Ssh,” Kevin slowly shook his head.  
“You don't need to convince me. I have no interest in killing you, nor do I intend to waste my resources in doing so, don't worry.” 

Kevin's tone was almost soothing, and Peter was losing his mind.   
That piece of shit thought he was making up excuses because he was afraid to die – there was no worse insult for someone like Peter. 

He was never afraid, of anything and anyone. And it seemed like Ito Kevin still didn't get that.   
Peter wished he had enough strength to get up and slam that motherfucker against the wall.

“I'm a generous man, hence I will make sure you'll have anything you need until you recover. Consider it my payment for your job.   
Once you recover, you're free to go wherever you want. I have no interest in your collaboration anymore,” 

Kevin got up and fixed his jacket, closing the centre button with fluid movements.

Peter had never felt so insulted in his whole life. That man thought he could just throw someone like him away.   
He didn't know what had happened to make Kevin Ito think he had a chance to get Derek without his help, but he was not going to give up on the hunt just because he didn't work for that shitty organization anymore. 

There was no better time to settle his score with Derek – he had a weakness he could use against him and he was going to play on that. 

Peter had always worked alone and apparently that was not going to change.   
He didn't need The Nogitsune to achieve his aim.

  
Seeing how the man remained silent, Kevin grinned and fixed the knot of his tie before taking his dark blue coat.   
He folded it and placed it on his left forearm, walking to the door.   
Peter was following him with his black eyes. 

Kevin grabbed the door knob and turned around one last time. 

“I'd like to stay and chat, but I have a date with someone really precious and I absolutely can't miss that.”

Peter didn't get the meaning of those words, but he noticed how the man looked extremely satisfied in himself. 

He flashed his monstrous smile at Peter one more time before disappearing out of the door.

  
_...._...._

Stiles looked at the lights of the big city, little dots turning into bright trails as they passed quickly by his window. 

Actually, it would have been more correct to say that Stiles was the one passing by, as he rode the taxi to his destination. 

The traffic was intense, so they had taken some shortcuts and they were currently going through an isolated street that was only going to make that ride longer. 

The driver was looking at him every now and then from the rearview mirror. He was suspicious, or maybe it was just Stiles' imagination. 

They had exchanged just a few words when Stiles first got into the car and gave him the address he had scribbled on a piece of paper.

“Take me there, please.” 

“It's on the other side of the city” 

“It doesn't matter” 

“There's a lot of traffic, it will take more than an hour...” 

“Just take me there, please.”

  
He had been sitting there for a while now, looking out of the window with no interest whatsoever in what he was seeing, no expression on his face. His mind was in an uproar, thoughts chasing after thoughts while he kept replaying the same film over and over. 

He was going to kill Kevin, and he knew it was never going to be as he expected it, but it caused no harm to try and imagine it.

His semiautomatic was well-hidden under his white coat, he could feel it burning against his side even though, again, it was just his imagination. 

He had thought he was going to feel nervous or agitated or would be in a state of utter panic, but he felt absolutely nothing.  
He felt like someone had turned him upside down and emptied his whole being. 

The only moments where he still felt his heart beating and heating up in some way were the moments when he thought of Derek. 

  
He looked up at the sky: he had read in some book that the moon and the stars stayed the same in every corner of the globe and that looking at them could make lovers feel less distant. 

But there was no moon that night and New York had too many lights that were blinding the stars, so the sky was completely black.

Stiles thought it was somehow fitting for his mood and for what he was about to do. 

  
* _“I want you to give up on Kevin”_

 _“You asked me to do it in the first place.”_ *

  
Stiles closed his eyes. Derek had been right all along.

Kevin was his problem and no one else's, as he had been since the very start.   
He had tried to push the burden on Derek and then take it away after throwing Derek into troubles.

So selfish of him. 

He needed to write the word ' end ' to that story, and he needed to do it personally. 

For himself. 

For Derek. 

For anyone else that Kevin could potentially harm in the future.

He didn't want there to be a second or third Stiles Stilinski, suffering just like him.

That man had to be stopped.

  
“Traffic is getting better,” the driver suddenly said, glancing at him through the rear view mirror. He was listening to the traffic updates on the radio. 

“We should get there soon, but I can't really tell. Is it something important?” 

Stiles' lips became a tight line. 

_Ah, here is my old friend Anxiety_ , he thought, feeling somehow agitated at the news that he could be reaching his destination soon.

  
“No, don't worry. I have time,” he replied in a flat tone, pressing his temple against the cold window. 

_How does the saying goes again?,_ he reminded himself, _Revenge is a dish best served cold._

  
He searched through his pockets until he found his pills. 

He looked at the small bottle between his fingers, realizing how many times he had thought his life depended on it. 

He took a deep breath, calming his heart that threatened to explode.

 _I can do this,_ he told himself _, I am stronger than I think._  
 _Jackson says it all the time._

He smiled at the thought of the hitman, feeling guilty at the same time.   
He was probably deadly worried by now, but Stiles had chosen his path and there was no turning back. 

He's going to miss them. Jackson. Liam. Scott.

 _Derek_.

He wished the could say one last goodbye. 

He removed the cap from the bottle and lowered the window a bit. He stuck his hand out of it and turned the bottle upside down, watching as a hundred white drops fell away behind the car, until the bottle was empty.   
Then he let go of that as well. 

  
He felt free.

He then lowered the rest of the window and rested his crossed arms on the edge, placing his chin on them and letting the fresh air of the night mess up his hair. 

It could be the last night of his life, but somehow he had never felt so alive. 

It was a strange feeling but it wasn't unpleasant. He smiled and looked up at the black sky again. 

  
_I hope you can see the stars wherever you are, Derek._

  
_...._...._

Jackson was half-asleep on the couch when he heard hefty steps outside the door. 

They echoed on the old walls of the building – someone was coming up the stairs in a rush and they probably had heavy boots on their feet.

Jackson slapped himself awake, realizing he had fallen asleep after messing up the whole apartment again, hoping to find something about Stiles that he had missed the first time. 

He had actually thought about going around and looking for him a bit more, but he knew better that there was no use and actually, he was waiting for Derek. 

He didn't know if the man was really coming since their last call had been cut so abruptly, but he guessed he was, since it was about Stiles.

  
He couldn't believe Derek had been in New York that whole time and he hadn't called or even just left a message. 

What was he doing in New York anyway? 

He wasn't the type to stay in one place just because he had nothing to do.

Jackson felt like Derek was keeping things away from him, and considering the situation they were all in, they were probably really important things. He realized he actually needed to have a long talk with him if they were to see the dawn of the next day. 

  
“Shit,” he murmured, getting up and removing the laptop from his legs. 

He didn't even remember what he was looking for and he was shocked at his own carelessness –   
how could he fall asleep like that knowing Stiles was in danger? 

Truthfully, Jackson had been barely taking any hour of sleep since they were back in the city. 

He needed to watch over Stiles at all times and every noise coming from the outside rang an alarm in his head.   
As soon as he had rested his back against the couch, his overly exhausted brain had decided to shut down, no matter the situation. 

Still, he felt incredibly guilty and useless. 

  
Right then, he was snapped out of his thoughts by the steps coming closer to the entrance door. That was also when he remembered hearing the rumble of a bike coming from the street below.

It could only mean one thing-

Derek came barging into the apartment with the fury of a storm that very moment. 

He was breathless and he looked frightening: his dark eyes were burning holes at every corner, the veins on his neck were exposed, his jaw was tense. 

  
Jackson jumped from the couch at the sight of the man, but Derek completely ignored him and went straight to his old bedroom.   
Jackson ran after him, puzzled but relieved to have him there. 

“Derek!” He called from the door frame, looking inside to see what the other man was doing.

Derek started messing up the bedroom mercilessly, throwing items and ripping things.   
He was frantically looking for something, his features frozen but his movements giving away his emotions. 

Jackson stared at him, incapable of doing anything but to wait for Derek to explain the reason behind that madness. 

  
Derek didn't look at him, not even once, completely absorbed in what he was doing. 

He looked in every corner of the room, his movements getting more and more frenetic.

Jackson wanted to tell him that he had already searched that room for clues – if that was what Derek was doing – but he doubted that the man would listen.

Then it hit him. He already got some hints during their call, but it was clear now. 

Derek was panicking. 

In all those years, never once had Jackson seen the hitman lose his composure. Not even when he was on the verge of death.   
Derek faced life with a cold heart and even colder eyes.   
He never changed, nothing could affect him. 

  
But that was before Stiles Stilinski. 

  
“The phone,” Derek growled – the first words leaving his mouth since he had arrived. 

He looked around once more before focusing on Jackson. 

“Where's the phone?” His eyes could kill.

Jackson took a step back. He didn't know what Derek was talking abou– ...or maybe he did. 

Derek probably meant the phone Stiles always had with him.

“I think Stiles took it with him,” Jackson murmured, realizing how important that detail was.   
His eyes widened with surprise and relief. 

“Wait, I'll try to call him!”

Derek's shoulders fell down at once, and Jackson had the impression that the hitman hadn't been breathing at all up until that moment. 

  
“No,” he said, walking past Jackson and into the living room. 

He noticed Jackson's laptop on the table and opened it.

“It's too risky to call him, we don't know where he is.   
And he probably turned it off anyway. But if he has the phone with him, we can track down his location,” he plugged a small flash drive into the computer and installed a program Jackson didn't recognize.

“What's that?” He asked, looking over Derek's shoulder. 

“That phone has a bug,” 

Derek launched the program and a map took over the whole screen. It took just one second for Jackson to recognize USA. 

Derek typed a phone number into the search bar up on the left and pressed Enter. The program started loading the information requested. 

Derek glanced at Jackson. “I had to take some precautions to make sure he was safe,” he explained. 

Jackson hesitated.

“Do you track him down often?” He asked, worried. 

_If Derek could track Stiles' phone down any moment, maybe he had found out about the time they had spent in the warehouse for the training_.

Derek shook his head, his eyes on the screen that was still loading. 

“It's the first time,” he glanced at Jackson again, his eyes piercing right through him. 

“I thought I could trust your skills.”

  
Jackson didn't manage to hide his guilt, but there was also concern in his eyes and Derek got suspicious. 

“Why do you ask?” 

The screen beeped just then and Jackson cleared his throat. 

“Look,” he nodded at the map, that was now showing the streets of New York, with a red dot flashing right in the middle of it. 

Derek's attention was immediately drawn back to the screen and he checked the coordinates.   
The dot was moving and its speed indicated that Stiles was riding some kind of vehicle.

  
“This is Manhattan,” Derek murmured, his mind lost in his thoughts.

Where was Stiles going? Was he alone? Manhattan was on the other side of the city, it was going to take long to reach it. There was no time to lose. 

“I'll go first,” Derek decided, running a hand through his hair and trying to come up with a plan. 

“You keep checking on the phone and tell me where he's going, then come over. I will need help,” he looked through Jackson's belongings and took one of his guns along with some ammunition. 

He secured it inside the belt behind his back and fixed his jacket, looking at Jackson. 

“Is everything clear?”

Jackson was looking at the screen, his jaw tensed.

“Derek... it's not moving anymore.” 

Derek's throat went dry and he rushed back to the laptop. The red dot had stopped somewhere in the middle of Manhattan. 

Derek checked the address. "Park Hyatt Hotel,” he said, opening the internet browser. 

His fingers flew across the keyboard as he typed the words on the search bar.

Derek wasn't Danny, but he knew something about hacking and it took him a few minutes to find what could interest them.

What he found, though, wasn't reassuring at all. 

  
He turned the screen to Jackson, a mix of resignation and frustration on his face. 

“Look at the names on these documents.”

Jackson came closer, confusion all over his features. He bent down and started reading what looked like the records of the hotel.  
Most of the names written on there were unknown to him, but one of the most important ones caught his attention.

“Kevin Ito,” he read out loud through gritted teeth.   
“He owns that building,” he looked up from the screen to meet Derek's eyes. 

They were both thinking the same thing. It wasn't going to be easy getting inside the hotel.

Everything fell into place. Of course Kevin would drag Stiles to a place where he had total control over everything. 

Furthermore, a place in the middle of the city where the hitmen couldn't go overboard without catalysing too much attention.

  
“Take all the ammunition you have,” Derek said, still looking at the screen. “If we need to take down every single bastard in that building to get him out of there, we'll do it.”

He closed the laptop and removed the flash drive, slipping it into his pockets. He was ready to leave.   
Jackson still looked somehow uncomfortable. 

“Derek,” he called out as the other man was already walking to the door. 

Derek barely turned around. “We don't have time–”

“Stiles has a gun.” 

Derek stopped in his tracks. 

Jackson stared at his wide back without saying anything, regretting his words the moment they came out of his mouth. 

He thought that, given the situation, the fact that Stiles had a weapon and also knew how to use it could ease Derek's worries a bit. 

  
Derek slowly turned around. His eyes were completely black and his face was hidden in the shadows.   
The light of the window didn't reach the entrance.

“What does that mean?” He asked in a low and steady voice.

Jackson didn't know how to read Derek's reaction, so he went on:

“I think he has a gun. I looked everywhere but his semiautomatic is gone, so I guess–”

  
“His semiautomatic?” 

Derek reached Jackson with a couple of long steps and pushed him against the counter. 

“You gave him a weapon?”

“He knows how to use it, I taught him–” 

“ _You taught him?”_

Derek grabbed at Jackson's shirt, spitting words in his face. His tone was getting more and more incredulous and stained with anger. 

“Do you realize what you've done? Why do you think I kept him away from this?!” 

  
Stiles was full of rage and hunger for revenge, but he knew it was dangerous and he didn't want Derek to take the risk.   
The only solution he must have come up with was to take that revenge himself, but he didn't have the means, nor the skills.   
And Jackson had supplied him with exactly what he needed. 

Now, Stiles was going to face one of the most dangerous men in the country thinking he had a chance to get rid of him alone. 

Derek knew how naïve Stiles could be, he just knew that was Stiles' plan.   
He surely felt confident with a gun in his hand.

  
“He asked me to be trained,”   
Jackson tore Derek's hand off his shirt. 

“I was doubtful at first, but now I'm glad he's not completely defenseless.”

Derek shook his head. “I didn't want to drag him into this, and you knew it.” 

“Drag him into what?” Jackson opened his arms in confusion.   
“You're afraid we dragged him into our world? Wake up Derek, he is already in this world for a long time.   
He might as well learn how to fight back.” 

He saw Derek's incredulous frown and added, “I shared your worries at the beginning, I thought it was better to keep him away.   
I know you're afraid to taint him, but this is not going to happen. Believe me, I saw it. Stiles will always stay the same, it's his nature.  
I just helped him become stronger.” 

  
“He was already strong,” Derek murmured, clenching his fists.

He couldn't believe Jackson had betrayed him like that.

  
“You're right, he was,” Jackson admitted. “Then let's say that now he knows how to show his strength. Nothing more than that.” 

“And look where it took him!” Derek shouted, pointing at the door.

“Look where he's showing his strength now!. Are you in your right mind? Where do you see the bright side in this?” He had bloodshot eyes, his jaw rigid. 

Jackson lowered his gaze. “I didn't expect such an outcome either and I'm not saying I'm not worried.   
I'm just trying to... find something to hold on to, before I lose my mind.”

  
Both men fell silent – one of them looking at the ground, the other one looking at the first man with an unreadable expression on his tense features. 

Something in the way Jackson had said those words made Derek take some steps back.

Those weren't the words of someone who was just looking over Stiles. 

Jackson didn't sound like a guardian, or a bodyguard. Not even a friend. 

He sounded almost as broken as Derek was. 

Derek realized he didn't know anything of what had happened between those two while he was away. Whether or not Jackson's feelings had changed towards Stiles.

And he was not sure whether he wanted to know, at that point. 

  
He looked down for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, but they kept slipping away. It was not the right time for that. 

It just wasn't the right time.

“Take your ammunition,” Derek said slowly, his voice emptied of every emotion.

He didn't even know if he still wanted Jackson by his side after those revelations, but he knew he couldn't do it alone. 

He turned around and walked out of the apartment without saying anything else.

Jackson was left listening to Derek's heavy steps down the stairs, and he released a long, exhausted sigh. 

  
“Dammit, Stiles...”


	25. Chapter 25

Stiles looked up at the tall building in front of him.

It looked like it was completely made of glass, all the rooms had a big window facing the heart of the city, but all the lights were off. 

Unusual, considering the reputation of the 5-star hotel. Stiles remembered that place.

The name sounded familiar when Kevin had first said it, but since it was such a famous place, Stiles didn't find it weird. 

  
Now that he was in front of the building though, he clearly remembered he had already been there once, almost four years before. 

He shivered at the memory: he knew why Kevin had chosen that place.

  
The taxi had left ten minutes before, but Stiles had been standing in the forecourt the whole time– doing what, he didn't know.   
His mind hadn't changed, he was still going to carry out the plan as he had imagined it. 

He took some steps towards the entrance. There was a wide glass door surrounded by well-trimmed plants and marble stones. Stiles remembered that as well. 

At the time when he had first stepped into that place he was still a student with an average bank account, so of course everything about that hotel looked extremely luxurious to him. 

He slipped both hands in the pockets of his white coat and walked through the glass doors. He looked around the wide hall and noticed it was completely empty. 

No clients, no staff, not even a receptionist.

Stiles expected to find Kevin waiting for him in the hall, but he was alone.   
He wondered if Kevin's organization had anything to do with it, but the answer was pretty obvious. 

The question stayed the same: what was he supposed to do now? 

He wished the man had given him detailed information but all he had received after their call was a short message with a time – which Stiles had of course not respected, but it wasn't his fault and even if it was, he didn't care. 

The times when he did everything as Kevin wanted were long over already.  
Strangely enough, he didn't feel anxious. 

He wondered if maybe the thought of what he was going to do had yet to reach his brain.  
It was a possibility not to exclude, since he had been feeling lightheaded and carefree the whole day. 

Maybe he had simply accepted his role in that filthy game, or maybe he just didn't realize how dangerous the situation was. 

  
With a shrug, Stiles walked to the reception desk, and as he got closer, he noticed two men in black suits standing in front of the elevators.   
They walked over to him as soon as he got into their sight.

These are not Kevin for sure, he thought with a bit of disappointment and a lot of concern. He resisted the urge to take out his gun right there and then and instead, he put on his best poker face. 

He looked at the foxes on their jackets and it didn't help his agitation. 

“ Stiles Stilinski,” he blurted out, with just enough confidence to not sound like a scaredy-cat.   
He didn't know if he was faking it or if he really felt like that. 

“Your boss is waiting for me.” 

The guards didn't reply, but one of them immediately pushed Stiles on his front against the desk.   
He was extremely strong and managed to keep him in place with just one hand on his shoulder, while the other one started groping through his clothes. 

Stiles panicked. He didn't expect such a welcoming treatment and as much as he tried to get the men off him, he clearly wasn't strong enough to overcome those two bears. 

“I said Kevin Ito is waiting for me! Go ask him if you don't believe me!” He shouted, but his protests fell on deaf ears.   
“Where is he? Call him, you'll see!” 

The man who was searching him didn't take long to find the gun hidden under his coat. He showed it to Stiles with a mocking smile and hid it under his own jacket. 

Then he searched his external pockets, finding the emergency phone.   
It was turned off – Stiles had brought it with him just in case, not really planning on using it – but he knew it might look like he had other intentions regarding the device. 

He trembled. Was he fucked? 

He was clearly fucked, wasn't he? 

He had thought he was just going to meet up directly with Kevin, and he had completely ignored all the other possibilities.

His plan had already gone to hell. 

Stupid wasn't a strong enough word to define himself right now. 

  
The other guard suddenly let him go and turned around.   
Stiles' shoulder felt sore for how strong the man's grip had been. He turned around, resting his back against the desk and eyeing the doors.

If he ran fast enough he could still make it out of there. 

No way could he fight those men without his gun. 

He wasn't going to last long. 

The second guard seemed to read his thoughts because he stepped in front of him, blocking his way out. 

Stiles crossed his arms, pretending to be completely at ease and looking around like he wasn't trying to find another way to escape. 

“He's here,” the first guard said, talking to no one. “We're bringing him up.” 

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows.

_So he wasn't going to die?_

Not because of those bears, at least. His life had just been prolonged a little bit. 

He didn't know if it was a good thing, now that he was completely unarmed. 

If he were to meet other guards like those two, his fists were going to be pretty much useless.

The guard faced him again and Stiles finally noticed the black bud in his ear. They were talking to someone, maybe other guards or maybe Kevin himself. 

So he was actually there. He probably knew Stiles was there as well by now. 

The bodyguards pushed him towards the elevator without any consideration and Stiles moaned in pain. 

“I can walk alone,” he mumbled, feeling somehow confident again now that he knew they were not going to kill him.

Kevin wanted him alive, he was sure of that. The man probably had some sick plan in his mind, Stiles had been sensing it since their call.

The elevator was spacious – it was all painted in silver and gold and was richly decorated.   
The guards pushed Stiles to the far back while they stood in front of the door. 

The boy sighed, bumping the back of his head against the big mirror behind him. 

_I am an idiot_ , was his only thought. 

He spent the few minutes locked in that cabin looking at the numbers of the floors and feeling less and less confident as they went further and further up.   
Stiles knew there were three restaurants in that building: one at the ground floor, one at the second floor and one at the top floor.   
He thought Kevin was going to meet him at the ground floor one, but he clearly had other plans, and seeing how up they were going, he realized the designated place could only be the top floor lounge. 

The only thing that reassured Stiles was that, being in a public place, he could be sure Kevin wasn't going to try anything dangerous – like harming him.

While he wallowed in that thought, the elevator stopped at the 24th floor and one of the guards grabbed his wrist and pushed him forward. 

Stiles freed himself from the hold and walked ahead, feeling the gloomy presence of the men behind him.  
He kept his chin up and his steps steady, hiding all his emotions behind that facade of confidence. 

There was a short corridor with a door at the end of it.  
Behind that door, the top floor lounge and his doom. 

The thought only hit him then: he was about to meet Kevin again. 

The last time Stiles had seen him was when Derek had first tried to kill him. Not the best of memories.

No way to go back now, he told himself, I'm not scared of him anymore and I have nothing to lose.

The bodyguards pushed him through the door and Stiles almost stumbled on his feet while he entered the room. 

The lounge was a wide space that occupied the whole top floor. The walls were painted in dark colors and they were all soundproof, in order to create a relaxing environment.  
There were no long tables, but several small ones, meant for two, three people at most.   
The soft lights and the amazing view of the city below made the atmosphere really intimate. 

It was clearly a restaurant meant for couples, unlike the ground floor one. Stiles looked around the room, the dim light throwing shadows everywhere and making it hard to recognize items and faces. 

There was no need for the latter though: the lounge was completely deserted and Stiles felt a cold shiver running up his spine. 

First the hall, now the lounge – the hotel seemed abandoned.

  
He took some steps forward, the two men in black suits always by his sides, but he almost forgot about their presence.   
He was too focused looking for another man.

He turned around the counter, noticing some bottles of wine and a big wooden box on it.   
There was no barman, nor waiters. 

Then he saw it: a tall figure standing in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

A man, who was looking out at the city below.   
He had his back on him, but Stiles could recognize him everywhere: the wide shoulders, slicked black hair, white suit, confident attitude – 

he had heard their steps but he wasn't turning around, sending a clear message: I'm the one who makes the rules here. 

Stiles stopped when there were still at least six meters between them.   
He noticed the table for two carefully placed behind Kevin: there was a candle and a small vase at the center of it – in the vase, a beautiful red rose. 

He pushed back the memories that were filling his mind. They don't mean anything anymore, he reminded himself. 

“Sir,” came a voice from behind him. 

The guard who had searched his clothes walked to Kevin, stopping only a couple of meters before him and taking out Stiles' gun and phone. 

“He was carrying these.” He left the items on the table and stepped back. 

  
Kevin finally turned around and Stiles held back his breath. Not a single thing had changed in him: Kevin was still the handsome, charming, unsettling man he remembered.   
His features were still as cold as ice and his eyes showed no emotion whatsoever. 

Stiles could remember why he had fallen for him, and at the same time he wondered how could he fall for a man whose face told everything there was to know about his soul.   
Nothing. 

Stiles had by now enough experience with ruthless men to make a distinction: 

if Derek had that coldness that seemed meant to hide the wide world the hitman kept caged inside him, 

Kevin's eyes were a door to the land of desolation and destruction that was his heart.   
He was cold not because he had something to hide, not because he wanted to shield the world from his darkness, not because he had a reason.

Kevin was cold because he was a monster. Simple as that. 

And Stiles regretted realizing it so late.

  
“Stiles,” Kevin walked around the table and brushed his fingers on the barrel of the gun. 

“You have an original concept of 'dinner',” he showed his frightening smile, but it lasted just a moment.   
He then nodded at his guard, who took weapon and phone and went locking them into the box Stiles had seen on the counter. 

He wondered what was in there along with his belongings. 

Stiles kept his eyes on the man. He needed to show that he wasn't scared, because he was sure that was what Kevin was thinking.

“...As original as yours, apparently,” he nodded at the man at his back.   
“Are we going to have dinner in group? I thought it was going to be intimate,” he smirked.

  
“It is,”

Kevin dismissed both guards with a wave of hand and moved a chair, gesturing for Stiles to sit.

“Please,” his gestures were extremely elegant and his smile was charming. 

Stiles waited to hear the sound of the door closing behind the guards before sitting at the other side of the table, leaving Kevin with his empty chair. 

The man sighed, “I was just trying to be a gentleman, you know? I used to do it all the time before, and you loved–” 

“Before is before,” Stiles cut him off, removing his coat. 

He looked up, straight into Kevin's eyes, before adding, “and now is now.”

"No problem," Kevin raised his hands in resignation and sat down. 

There was no menu on the table, just a couple of table napkins and a set of cutlery, along with two glasses: one for water, one for more expensive drinks. 

“Would you like some champagne?” Kevin asked, immediately adding, “We should totally have some champagne.” 

He snapped his fingers and, a moment later, a waiter appeared from nowhere with a bucket of ice. In it, a bottle of Dom Pérignon Œnothèque.

Stiles recognized a familiar pattern in Kevin's behavior: he pretended to ask for someone's opinion when he had already decided, and he showed off his wealth in every way to make everyone else feel inferior to him. 

It was just the beginning of what Stiles called his 'method':   
Kevin always needed to affirm his supremacy, to make it clear that he was the powerful one. 

  
He stared straight into Kevin's eyes while the waiter filled their glasses.   
Stiles had once read that when facing a dangerous animal, it was better to stare straight into its eyes while backing slowly, in order to not show you're scared. 

Animals can sense your fear, Stiles had read. 

Kevin was the most dangerous animal. 

  
“I'm surprised we have a waiter,” Stiles began. “This place is deserted.” 

He took his glass but didn't drink from it. What if it was poisoned? 

He couldn't trust Kevin. 

The man smirked. 

“Oh... Didn't I tell you?” He took his glass and nodded at their surroundings. 

“This building is mine.” 

He drank the whole glass of champagne in one go, looking straight into Stiles' eyes with that sly smirk of his still plastered on his lips. 

Stiles realized Kevin knew perfectly what was going on in his mind about the poisoned drink and was indirectly telling him how stupid he was. 

Stiles felt enraged and put his glass down. 

“You didn't tell me many things,” he retorted, looking out of the window. 

The view was stunning, but to Stiles it was just an endless field of bright dots.

“That's why we're here,” Kevin replied, licking his lips after putting his glass down.   
“To talk.” 

“To talk?” Stiles repeated, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical expression. “To talk about what?”

Kevin shrugged. “Whatever you want,” he smiled, looking at Stiles with a soft expression.

“I missed you, Stiles.”

Stiles broke into a forced laugh. “You missed me? Really?” 

He dug his nails in the fabric of his cropped jeans, leaning forward and reducing his voice to a whisper full of hatred. 

“What part do you miss _exactly_? 

When you _beat_ me?

When you _raped_ me?!” 

  
Kevin didn't lose his composure. He just shook his head, “I understand why you're so angry at me, but the situation could be solved in another way. You could talk to me.” 

“When?” Stiles immediately replied. 

“When could I talk to you? The only times you were not screaming at me were the times you had me tied to a bed.” 

His voice was sharp and emotionless, like he was talking about something that didn't affect him at all.   
He crossed his arms, as if to shield himself, and looked away.

Kevin sighed. He almost looked sincerely concerned, but Stiles knew better than to fall for such an act.

  
“I admit our last months had been a bit... chaotic.   
I wasn't in my best state and I did things I didn't mean. But there was no need to resort to such extreme methods–” 

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Stiles growled, his eyes darker.   
“Tell me now Kevin, did you call me here to make fun of me?   
Because what you're saying doesn't make sense to me, and I don't know if I should be enraged or shocked with how easily you're talking about all the evil you did to me.   
You think you can make up by saying you were stressed or some other bullshit? Do you think I don't remember what you've done to me?” 

  
Kevin brushed his finger against the silver knife by his side, looking at Stiles' rigid features.   
He looked unimpressed and extremely calm. 

“I know you do.”

“Of course I do,” Stiles confirmed. “You made me go through hell since the very first day.   
You made me lose contact with all the people who cared about me and you abused me, I was a prisoner in my own house.   
And as if this wasn't enough, you kept your whole life a secret from me.   
Business man? CEO of a small company?” 

He shook his head in disbelief and resignation. It was enough to look around the lounge to see the truth. 

“...I should have known better. I was so stupid for believing you really had inherited all that money from your parents.” 

  
Kevin looked down at the table, took his glass and swirled the champagne a bit. He looked unaffected by Stiles' words.

“You loved me,” he simply said. “If you're looking for a reason why you believed all my lies, that's it.   
You loved me. 

I made you fall in love with me, you have to give me that.” 

Stiles's lips became a tight line. Kevin was talking about it like it was all a game for him. 

_I made you fall in love with me, I won and you lost,_  
that's what his words seemed to say. 

Maybe Stiles had been just a pastime for that heartless bastard. 

  
The waiter came back right then with the first course. He was a young man with short black hair and a long scar on his cheek.

His traits were typically Japanese, but his eyes were as gray as the cloudy sky. He didn't have any particular expression on his face and if he was forced to be there, he didn't show it. 

He seemed completely uninterested and not the least bothered by the unusual situation. He was suddenly gone as quickly and silently as he had come.   
Stiles found him disturbing.

  
“I took the freedom to choose our menu,” Kevin explained, unfolding his napkin carefully.

“Everything is extremely delicious here. Eat whatever you want.”   
He started slicing his meat right away.

The last thing Stiles wanted was to eat, and moreover, to eat something Kevin had personally requested.   
Still, he took his fork and poked the piece of meat in his plate.

“Why....?” 

Kevin looked up from his plate, slowly chewing on his bite. 

Stiles wasn't looking at him, his empty eyes were still on the piece of meat he was poking. 

“Why did you do that to me....?” Stiles asked in a low voice.

“I remember when we dated – you were another person.   
I fell in love with that Kevin, I admit it.   
But after our marriage... you changed completely. You were more and more frustrated, you were always angry... and even when you were not upset, I felt like you had fun torturing me.   
Why did you do that to me?” 

He finally looked up, his watery eyes meeting the other man's one.

In the end, that was what Stiles really wanted to know.   
He was barely in his twenties and he already had a failed marriage on his shoulders.   
He needed a reason, he needed to know what had happened to them. 

Kevin had been good to him at the beginning, why that twist all of a sudden? 

  
In a remote corner of his mind, Stiles still wondered if it was somehow his fault that the man he loved had changed so dramatically. 

  
Kevin kept chewing slowly, looking at his plate like he hadn't been listening.   
Stiles kept staring at him and saw his Adam's apple moving quickly as he swallowed the meat with gusto. 

He then put his cutlery down and extended his arms over the table, grabbing Stiles' knife and stealing the fork from his hand. 

Stiles instinctively leaned back against his chair, puzzled and scared. 

Kevin didn't raise his gaze from the table and started slicing Stiles' meat in small pieces. His movements were slowly and elegant, he made something trivial like slicing meat look extremely sophisticated.

  
“If a wolf were to bite you, would you complain?” He eventually said, still focused on what he was doing. 

“You would suffer, but you'd just put a bandage on the wound and move on – you would recognize that it's the wolf nature. You would just accept it, because it's an animal, and animals have their nature, right?” 

Stiles sensed where Kevin was going with that speech and he didn't like it the least bit.

The man finished slicing the meat and took a bite from Stiles' plate. Stiles watched him chewing the – clearly not poisoned – meat like he was tasting the most delicious thing. 

  
“Human beings are no different,” he went on, licking some sauce from his lips. 

“We're all animals we all have our nature, something that's intrinsic and that cannot be changed, no matter how hard we try.   
We can just accept our nature, make the best out of it,” he opened his arms as to embrace the whole room. 

“I made the best out of my nature. I'm rich, I'm powerful. I can get everything I want just by snapping my fingers.” 

  
“So I was just another thing you wished to possess?”   
Stiles spoke quietly, slowly, his eyes on the table. 

It was clear now. Kevin's words couldn't be more explicit.

Kevin lowered his arms and looked at the knife laying on his plate. It still had some sauce on it.

  
“You were... my most precious possession,” he breathed out.  
“I still remember the first time I saw you, here in this same building. You were a vision – so beautiful, so fragile. I wanted to make you mine. 

I needed to, I felt like I couldn't live if you were to be of someone else's,” he sighed, almost dramatically. 

“I did everything in my power to please you, to give you everything you needed and deserved. And finally, I got you.   
Holding myself back was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life but I didn't want to scare you away.   
But when we married, you said you would accept every side of me, that you would love me no matter what. 

So I thought I could finally be fully myself around you, that I could show you my nature.   
I thought you would understand,” he made a pause and looked up to meet Stiles' eyes. 

Stiles was looking at him as if Kevin was something or someone extremely disturbing. 

His eyes were wide and full of... disgust maybe, or fear. He couldn't tell. He just knew he didn't like that stare. 

“But you lied to me,” Kevin said after the long pause. 

“You wanted the man,” he picked up the knife and slowly licked the sauce off of it, looking straight into Stiles' eyes. 

“...but you couldn't accept the animal.” 

  
Stiles stayed frozen, both of his hands pressing against the border of the table as if he was trying to get away from there. 

He didn't even know if the man – but was that really a man? – in front of him deserved an answer. 

He thought he was going to meet Kevin and be left unaffected by whatever could happen, but he was so wrong.   
His whole body was shaking.

  
“...Do you listen to yourself?” Stiles murmured, shock painted on his every feature.   
“You're telling me you pretended to be someone you were not, just to get to me... and when you finally got me, you...” he choked on his own words. 

Horrible memories were filling his mind. 

He felt like throwing up.

“...You're telling me that all the things you did to me... you did it because it was your nature? Does this even make sense?   
How could you think I would accept that? Are you–” 

He stopped himself before saying any more.  
He was about to ask if Kevin was out of his mind, but there was no need to ask.   
He clearly was. 

He was a sick man, that's for sure. 

“I admit I overdid it a bit, but that's because you made me angry with your constant refusal,” 

Stiles saw him clenching his fists but relax them soon after, like he was holding himself back. 

Kevin smiled. “I'm sorry about that and I would like to make up for what I've done.” 

  
Stiles shook his head, slowly shifting from a state of utter shock to a state of stark desperation.

Maybe he should have felt relieved, because it clearly wasn't his fault if his marriage had sunk, like he had always feared. 

But how could he feel relieved knowing he had married such a psychopath? 

“Make up for what you've done? You think it's that easy?” 

His voice trembled and he hated it. 

He wanted to look strong, he had been preparing all that time just for that and he was failing.  
His plan had been a failure since the very beginning, he could see it now. 

“You 'overdid it'? Your 'nature'? What are we talking about?”   
He forced a smile full of sarcasm, though his vision was completely blurred by unshed tears. 

“You just don't do that to someone you love. You just don't... you just...”   
his voice was trembling so much that he had to stop and bit his lower lip to hold back a sob. 

He clenched his hand into a fist and pressed it against his mouth, feeling like biting his own skin in order to hold himself back from crying.

  
“...Have you ever loved me, even just for a moment?” Stiles eventually asked.

It was such a stupid question.   
Kevin clearly had no feelings for anyone. He just wanted to own whatever he fancied and people were just items to him, Stiles included. 

He was profoundly disturbed, that was another sure thing. 

Maybe it wasn't even his fault in the end, one just doesn't ask for those kind of issues. Still, what he had done to Stiles was unforgivable and it was the proof he had never felt anything for the boy.

But the words had rolled off Stiles' tongue before he could stop them and now he was left waiting for an answer from a man who probably didn't even know what the word 'love' meant. 

Kevin smiled softly, his eyes losing some of their coldness.

  
“I loved you every day, Stiles. Every day, even if you didn't see it.   
I know it's hard to believe it, but you are the only person I ever cared about and your betrayal deeply hurt me. I was carried away by my anger, so I tried to hunt you down. 

But then I realized – I don't want to do this. I don't want to lose you again. I need you. I understand why you made that choice and I realize I am somehow at fault.” 

Stiles blinked in confusion. 

What was he saying now? 

One moment he was convinced to be in the right,   
next moment he admitted his faults?

Why? 

What was he planning? 

Stiles had never seen Kevin admitting his wrong doings, he was caught unprepared. 

  
“Stiles,” he began again, raising his glass and taking one more sip of the champagne before looking at the boy straight in the eye. 

  
“Come back to me. Let's start over.” 

  
Stiles' heart dropped.

  
_...._...._

The hotel was dark.   
All the lights were off, except those at the ground floor and a dim light at the top floor, but it couldn't be seen from there. 

It looked like all the rooms were empty, but there was no way to know what was going on in the corridors. 

  
“What do you think ?” Jackson asked, his eyes glued to the building, just like Derek's. 

His car was parked not far away from there, and Derek's bike was hidden somewhere in that area as well.   
He didn't know where exactly, because even if he had insisted they would go together with Jackson's car, Derek had refused bluntly and rode away on his bike. 

Jackson could sense that the hitman wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, and he also knew why. 

Derek wasn't stupid. Not only had Jackson trained Stiles without telling him, but he could also sense something had happened between them. 

His bond with Jackson was strong, yet it was obvious he didn't want to have him around for the time being. 

“The best scenario is they have guards at the ground and top floor only,” Derek reasoned, eyeing the building with a dark frown on his face. 

“The worst is...”

“...they have guards on every floor.” Jackson concluded, looking away from the hotel to stare at the man by his side. 

“And you know we can't just skip them using the elevator. We need to clear the place if we want to come out alive,” he sighed, “what do we do about the cameras?”

“Nothing,” Derek replied, looking at the cameras in the forecourt.   
He could only imagine how many there were inside. 

“They're part of the hotel security system. If we succeed, there's time to take care of those later.” 

He paused, his lips twitched a bit. Jackson looked at him attentively. 

“...And if we die, there's no reason to worry about the videos.” 

Jackson laughed away the tension.   
“Right.” 

Derek took the safety off his gun with a quick gesture. The click echoed in the empty forecourt.

“Let's go.”

Jackson nodded and did the same with his own weapon. They walked into the hall of the hotel with steady steps. It was empty, or so it seemed.

Derek immediately sensed the presence of other people near the elevator on his left and hid the gun by his right side while approaching the reception desk.   
Jackson stayed a couple of steps behind him, and they both looked around casually, as if they were curious tourists looking at the place for the first time. 

The guards near the elevator immediately walked over them.   
Jackson and Derek didn't look like the average clients of the hotel, all the contrary: Derek, with his black leather jacket, dark jeans and combat boots;   
and Jackson, with his dark blue varsity jacket, ripped jeans and white sneakers. 

They looked totally out of place.

  
“What are you doing here?” one of the guards asked, while the other one already had one hand inside his jacket.   
Derek pretended to acknowledge their presence just then and he looked around, faking surprise. 

“This is the famous Park Hyatt right?” He asked, looking around in awe. 

“It really lives up to its fame, I'm impressed.”

“What are you doing here?” the guard repeated, more loudly.   
They looked somehow agitated. 

Derek and Jackson exchanged a stare. Then Derek smirked.

“Isn't it obvious? We're booking a room,” 

In a split second, he raised his gun and shot one of the man in the forehead, while Jackson did the same with the other one.   
The bodies fell down with a thud, none of them had the time to say a single word before their ability to speak was taken away forever.   
Suddenly there was blood all over the floor – Derek liked the view. 

  
“Two less,” 

Jackson knelt to check if they were really dead, even if it was pretty obvious. He raised his gaze to Derek. 

“What about we see who can take down more flies before we reach the top floor?” He smiled.

Derek grinned. 

  
“If you enjoy losing so much.” 

  
_...._...._

_Stiles felt so out of place._

_Looking around, only famous personalities were surrounding him._

_He didn't know how he had ended up at that private event. It was meant only for people who had reached the top of the social ladder and yet, he was there among them._

_He knew the only reason he was allowed to take a glimpse of that shiny world was because the current director of the magazine he just interviewed at for a part-time job, had a crush on him ._

_He was probably hoping to get into Stiles' pants or something, but Stiles wasn't interested._   
_He didn't even want to be there, but his friends had insisted he should go anyway, because it was a once-in-a-life time experience._

_Stiles agreed, but he still hoped he didn't have to pay the price for that invitation._

_The room was wide and bright, big diamond chandeliers dangling from the golden ceiling. Everyone in there was extremely elegant, and Stiles felt uncomfortable wearing just a white buttoned shirt and cream pants._

_All the men had tuxedos and all the women wore what looked like overpriced dresses._

_He pushed some brown locks away from his face and cleared his throat, pouring himself another glass of water._   
_All the drinks on the table looked ridiculously expensive, he was too afraid to even touch the bottles._

_He looked around and drank quickly from his glass, almost choking on the liquid when he felt a hand grabbing his butt cheek._

_“Are you enjoying yourself?” Came a familiar voice, critically too close to his ear._

_Stiles swallowed the water with effort and turned around, forcing a smile._

_He couldn't allow himself to be rude with the man in front of him as long as he worked for him. He didn't have a strong connection in the field, he was totally powerless._

_The director – on his fifties, with grizzled hair and an evident potbelly pushing under his white shirt was smiling from ear to ear, slowly brushing his fingers against Stiles' backside as he spoke._

_Stiles attempted a smile and made a step forward to get away from the unpleasant touch._

_“Y-yeah... it's nice in here.”_

_“The Park Hyatt is one of the best hotels in New York ,” the man got closer again and his hand slipped down along Stiles' back until it reached his butt once more._

_His lips were only a few inches away from Stiles's ear when he whispered,_   
_“I actually have a suite booked for tonight. Why don't you keep me company? We could discuss your job for our magazine.”_

_Stiles closed his eyes, his mind screaming for him to run away._   
_The man's breath smelled like alcohol and it was simply disgusting. His hand was making Stiles shiver in revulsion._

_He wasn't even eighteen yet, how could such an old man take any interest of that kind in him?_   
_It was outrageous._

  
_“I... Actually I don't really... like... that...” he admitted with difficulty, trying once again to put some distance between them._

_The man grabbed his wrist to prevent him from running away._

_“I think you should be a little more_   
_grateful. I gave you a job when you're basically a nobody in this field. You should thank my kindness and your pretty face, because that's the only quality you have.”_

_Stiles felt enraged and embarrassed from how that filthy pervert was discrediting all his hard work._   
_The only thing he wanted was to punch him in the face until he passed out, but he couldn't do that if he still wanted to keep his job._

  
_Luckily, before he could say something he would regret later on, the pudgy hand around his wrist disappeared._

_“This is no place for slobs, I'm surprised they even let you in.”_

_Stiles gulped in shock and turned around to see the face of the man who had just saved him._

_He was surprised to find the director frightened to death while he looked at the fine-looking man beside him._

_Stiles' savior wore a light gray tuxedo and was extremely handsome. His features seemed sculpted in stone, his eyes looked cold but his overall appearance was nothing but charming._

_Stiles had never seen the director that pale._

_Who was that man? What kind of power did he have over the director?_

_“I'm... I'm sorry... s-sir,” were the man's last words before he disappeared._

_The stranger sighed and shook his head, focusing his attention back on Stiles._

_“Are you okay?” He asked with a warm voice._

  
_Stiles didn't believe in love at first sight, but that was probably the closest thing to it he had ever experienced._   
_He was already enchanted and his mind went suddenly blank._

_“Yes... Thank you. You didn't need to do that, but I'm grateful you did.” He smiled, his slightly trembling fingers still holding the empty glass._

_The stranger offered his hand for a shake._

_“Kevin Ito,” he smiled._

_Stiles held his hand just for a moment, feeling embarrassed without a reason._

_“Stiles Stilinski.”_

_“You look a bit too young to be here, Stiles,” Kevin said, pouring himself some wine._

_Stiles lowered his gaze to the floor. Of course, he probably looked like a teenager to the man._

_He felt disappointed, without knowing why. It wasn't like he wanted that man to see him as... As what?_

_“I don't know what I'm doing here either,” Stiles replied, chuckling._

_Kevin drank his wine in one go and put the glass down without any particular care._

_“It looks like we're both out of place then,” he stated._

_“You?” Stiles immediately retorted, regretting his shamelessness soon after._

_He blushed, “I mean... you look so...” he trailed off, mentally cursing himself._

_What was he trying to say?_

_Kevin smiled and took a small business card out of his pocket._

_“I'm just a small fish in a big tank.”_

_Stiles took the card and read the name on it. It was a company he had never heard before and it said Kevin Ito was the CEO of it._

_It was weird – judging from the director's expression, Kevin seemed to be way more than just an average business man._

  
_“I came here hoping to seal some contracts but I'm honestly getting bored,” he looked around the room before resting his eyes on Stiles again._

_“Would you like to do a tour of this place with me?”_

_Stiles' smile brightened up his whole face_. 

Stiles's face was as white as the tablecloth in front of him.   
His ears weren't functioning properly. He must have heard it wrong. 

_What was Kevin saying?_

Or better, why would he think there was even a small chance Stiles would go back to him? 

  
Kevin was playing with the silver knife as he waited for Stiles' answer.   
He seemed to never lose his composure, but Stiles knew better than that. 

He had seen all sides of Kevin and he actually felt even more uncomfortable in seeing him so calm. 

It was more frightening than seeing him lose control.

  
“...Why would I do that?” Stiles finally spoke, finding his voice again.   
“Do you think I'm that stupid?”

“What are you going to do then?” Kevin immediately replied.  
“You have nowhere to go, no one who can help you. You lost your job, you have nothing.” 

“And this sounds like a good reason to you? Going back to you just because I'm desperate? You basically want to use my misfortune to your own advantage,” 

Stiles was bewildered, but then again Kevin was a ruthless man.   
He had no limits.

“Besides, I... I have someone.” 

  
He looked away. The situation was absurd. 

Why was he talking about Derek to Kevin himself?   
Why did he feel the need to justify himself, to prove that he had somewhere he belonged to, someone who was waiting for him? *

  
Furthermore... Derek wasn't waiting for him.   
At all. 

Derek had disappeared, Stiles didn't even know if he was ever going to see him again. 

Maybe it was true he didn't have anyone, but he preferred spending his whole life waiting for Derek than going back to Kevin.

He would find a way to survive, anything could be better than going back to hell. 

  
Kevin looked concerned. 

“Oh... Don't tell me you really fell for that hitman? Stiles... you should know better than that.”

Stiles smirked.   
“Sounds like a bad joke coming out of your mouth,” he retorted ironically. 

Kevin seemed to ignore his reply. “Moreover, what are you going to do now that he's gone?” 

  
Stiles' expression changed into a puzzled one. He hesitated, eyeing the man in front of him before asking,   
“How do you know about that?”

“How would I not know?” 

Kevin was putting all his efforts to look worried, but Stiles could see he was actually amused. 

“The accident took place in one of my properties.” 

  
Something sank in Stiles' chest. 

Kevin's words seemed to echo throughout the wide room. 

“Wait... What are you talking about?” He asked slowly, trying to organize his thoughts. 

Accident? What accident? 

Something had happened to Derek while he was gone? 

But Derek was in Europe right? 

Kevin didn't have properties in Europe, or did he? 

Then... what was it about? 

  
Kevin faked surprise, leaning back against his chair and taking a deep breath. He suddenly looked uncomfortable. 

“Oh... so you don't know?” He pretended to be remembering just then. 

“Of course you don't. You told me you fired him, right?” 

Stiles didn't answer. He was just staring at Kevin with wide eyes, fear crawling in his skin. 

What was there that he didn't know? 

He had spent most of his time out of the city with Jackson, but if Derek wasn't even in America, what was the problem? 

What could he have possibly missed about him?

  
“I think he didn't consider himself fired, though,” Kevin went on, suddenly standing up. 

He went to the bar counter, while Stiles followed his every movement. 

“He sneaked into one of my properties a couple of weeks ago.   
I don't know what he was trying to do, maybe he thought I would be there and wanted to accomplish his job. 

Anyway, it didn't go well.” 

He opened the wooden box on the counter, where the guard had put Stiles' gun, and took out some papers.  
He walked back to their table and left the files in front of Stiles before sitting down again. 

Stiles looked down and noticed those papers were actually black and white pictures. From the angle, he could guess they were probably taken from a security camera. 

In the first picture, there were four men dressed in black suits: two of them were unknown to Stiles, but the other two looked familiar.

Stiles brushed his fingers against their faces: even if they were trying hard not to look at the camera, he could tell that one of them was Liam. The other – who wore round glasses and had a briefcase in one hand – totally looked like Derek. 

What was he doing there? And why was he dressed up like that?

“This is... New York?” He murmured almost absentmindedly. 

Kevin nodded.   
“Yes. Did he tell you he was abroad?” 

Once again, Stiles didn't answer. Apparently, Derek had lied to Jackson and to everyone else.   
He had always been in New York, or at least in the last weeks. 

  
He took the pictures and looked at them one by one.   
There were several pictures from security cameras, but just that first one had taken a good shot of the two men. Stiles quickly flipped through all the pictures, until he found one that wasn't in black and white, and was not taken from a surveillance camera. 

Someone had taken a picture of what looked like a pile of ruins.

“What is this?” Stiles asked, confused and scared.   
Why was Kevin showing him those pictures? 

“That building was under renewal, we had some problems with the pipelines,” Kevin made a pause and waited for Stiles to look up from the pictures.   
He was even more confused, if possible. 

Kevin tried to look as sorry as possible. 

“There was an explosion.”

Stiles stared at him in silence. He swallowed hard, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage.   
He didn't like where that story was going.

  
“Why... why are you telling me this?” 

He didn't understand the meaning of that act, he didn't understand why Kevin had that sorrowful expression on his face.   
Like he was worried about him, or he was pitying him. Stiles didn't know, but either way he didn't like it.

“What does Derek have to do with it?”

  
Kevin looked at him in silence, like he couldn't find the right words. His lips were in a tight line and he put his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers under his chin and sighing.   
Then, he reached out to the pictures and moved aside the ruins one to show Stiles the last picture in the pile. 

Stiles wavered, staring into the man's eyes a bit longer before finally finding the courage to look down. 

The last picture wasn't from a security camera either and it was in full colors. Stiles would have preferred it in black and white, because what he saw broke every inch of him inside. 

There wasn't much in the framing, it was just a close-up of a pair of eyeglasses. They were on the ground near the pile of ruins of the previous picture, and the lenses were broken.   
All around were red stains of what Stiles recognized as blood. Those looked like the glasses Derek was wearing in the first picture.

  
Stiles frantically looked for that photo again, he was sure it wasn't the same pair. He took the first picture with trembling hands and compared it to the last one, shifting his gaze from one to the other several times, his breath getting more and more irregular.   
He started shaking his head without realizing, his lips pressed tight and his eyes filling with tears.

“No,” he murmured. 

“No!.” 

“We found two bodies under the ruins,” Kevin's voice seemed to come from another world.  
“They were unidentifiable, but there's no doubt it was that hitman and his partner.” 

Stiles' head was spinning. That was one of his nightmares, for sure. 

A long, terrifying nightmare.

He was going to wake up in their home and Derek was going to be in the kitchen making coffee, as always. 

Everything that happened during the last months had just been a nightmare.

Dark circles started forming on the paper. Stiles looked at them in confusion, before realizing his tears were dropping on the pictures he was still holding in his hands. 

  
Derek's dead. 

  
The thought struck him like lightning. 

Derek had died weeks before and he didn't even know.   
He was still training at the time, training to become stronger and kill Kevin to prevent Derek from risking his life to do the very same thing. 

And Derek had died all the same, away from him, trying to do what Stiles had asked him to.   
Trying to protect him.

What was the point of everything Stiles had done up until that moment then?

It all had gone to waste without him even knowing.   
He had never wanted to protect someone before Derek, and he had failed miserably. 

  
He looked at the picture again, as if it would change anything. A part of his heart still believed Derek was alive.

How could he be gone, when Stiles didn't know? 

He loved him, people were supposed to feel something when their loved ones passed away. 

Something, anything. Even just an itch. 

What was the point of love otherwise, if he couldn't even feel things like that? 

How could Derek leave like that? Why did he have to be silent even in his death? 

Stiles had the right to know, because he loved him more than his own life. It was just unfair.

  
Stiles dropped the pictures altogether, some of them falling at his feet. His fingers dug into the borders of his sleeves and he brought both hands at his face, covering it as he sobbed uncontrollably.  
He didn't care about showing his weakness to Kevin, he didn't care about anything anymore. He could just die right in that moment, for all he cared.

The hands on his eyes prevented him from seeing the sick smile on Kevin's face.

_It was done_. 

Stiles had fallen for his lies, it was going to be so easy to manipulate his mind while he was in such a fragile state. 

He was going to cling to Kevin as he was the only person he had left in that world. Kevin was going to get him back and do whatever he wanted with him. 

_He had won_.

  
He waited some moments, then he reached out and rested one hand on the table, halfway between them. 

“Stiles,” he called gently. 

Stiles stopped sobbing after a while, slowly shifting his hands just enough to uncover his eyes and see what the other man wanted. 

Kevin softly drummed his fingers on the table, as to invite Stiles to take his hand. 

  
“It'll be okay baby. I'm here, I'll take care of you, I promise.”

Stiles looked at the hand on the table and let his own hands drop on his lap.   
He swallowed his tears and slowly nodded at his words. 

Kevin was already tasting his victory. 

  
Stiles attempted a smile, which Kevin immediately returned. 

  
Then he quickly took his fork and stabbed the man's hand with all his strength, staking it to the table. 

Kevin bawled as Stiles' firm hand was still pressing on the fork. 

The boy leaned forward and looked in the man's teary eyes.   
He had never seen Kevin look so terrified and it made his lips stretch into a crooked smirk, while tears flowed down his face. 

  
“Go to hell.”

  
He quickly got up while Kevin tried to extract the fork and ran to the bar counter, finding the box still open.   
He grabbed his gun and took the safety off, turning around and pointing it at Kevin. 

The man finally managed to free himself and slowly got up, his bleeding hand staining his white tuxedo. He had cold sweat running down his forehead and he looked pained, but he still managed to break into one of his sly smirks.

  
“What are you going to do, Stiles, Darling?” He mocked him.   
“You can't shoot me.” 

Stiles positioned his finger on the trigger. 

“Watch me,” he replied, taking his aim. 

His vision was blurred by the tears that kept flowing down his cheeks, but he could still make out Kevin's figure.

“Your hands are shaking,” Kevin noticed, taking some steps closer to him. “You're not a murderer.”

  
“Killing you is not a crime,” Stiles retorted. “It's a duty.” 

Kevin laughed, though his voice sounded weak. His wounded hand was shaking a bit, though he tried to hide it. 

“Do you really want to play this game, baby?”

Stiles was about to answer, when he heard a click echoing behind him. Something was suddenly pressing against the back of his head.

“Drop it,” said an unknown voice with a weird accent behind him.

Stiles quickly realized it could only be the waiter, the man with the long scar. He wasn't a waiter, he was one of Kevin's men. 

  
Stiles closed his eyes in awful awareness.   
_Of course he was._

But he had no intention of surrendering. He had nothing to lose anyway. 

“Whether I drop it or not, you're still going to shoot me,” Stiles reasoned, a resigned smile on his lips. 

“So just go on with it,” he looked at Kevin. “This is what you wanted from the beginning, right?”

  
Kevin didn't reply but the smile on his face had disappeared. Maybe he was realizing the same thing Stiles had. 

"Don't be stupid Stiles. I don't want to kill you. You just have to come back," 

  
Stiles scoffed. _' No way in hell.'_

“Let's see who's faster,” Stiles said. “Your man at killing me or me at killing you. I feel like either way you're going to die, and that's enough for me.” 

He knew the chances of him shooting Kevin before the man behind him could shoot him were almost non-existent.   
He had a gun pointed directly at his head, he was going to die before even pulling the trigger. 

But that didn't mean he wouldn't die trying.

  
 _Goodbye_ , Stiles thought, closing his eyes and letting fate decide for his life. 

His finger applied the slightest pressure on the trigger.

A shot echoed throughout the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. 

  
Stiles opened his eyes slowly, his finger still on the trigger.  
Kevin was a couple of meters in front of him, still alive. 

His gun didn't shoot. 

Then who... Stiles turned around, looking at the direction of the door with wide eyes. 

  
Derek stood there, a gun in his hand, his aim still somewhere behind Stiles. He was covered in sweat and was breathing heavily..

The body of the waiter laid on the ground behind Stiles, a red hole in his temple.   
His gray eyes were still opened but they were not going to see anything anymore. 

Stiles' arms dropped. 

_It wasn't a hallucination, right?_

Derek was there. Derek was in front of his eyes, alive.

  
He stared at the hitman while some tears were still streaming down his face. 

He thought about the pictures he had just seen, the broken glasses and the blood stains.   
He had imagined Derek's body under those ruins, lifeless, and flashes of that night when Liam had brought him home barely alive came back to haunt him. 

He had promised himself he would never allow something like that to happen again, but Kevin had destroyed his whole world with just a couple of pictures. 

But now, Stiles realized those were all lies meant to make him weak, fragile, so that the man could easily try to manipulate his mind into thinking Kevin was his only safe harbor in that world.

  
Stiles' heart seemed to start beating again. He felt like he hadn't seen Derek in ages, but the hitman hadn't changed at all. 

Stiles would recognize those dark eyes everywhere. 

Derek was just a few meters away from him, it was enough to make a few steps and he could touch him again, he could feel his warm skin, he could kiss him... It all sounded incredible to Stiles's ears.

Just when he thought he was not going to see him again, Derek was right there.   
Stiles was not going to let him disappear a second time. Not now that he could finally breathe again. He suddenly felt at a loss of what to do. 

He thought he had so much to tell him, but now that he was in front of him the words just wouldn't come out.

Of all the things he expected, seeing Derek there wasn't one of those. He didn't expect to see him again in that situation, not even before Kevin had lied to him about his death. 

He had thought Jackson was going to do something, but he didn't expect the hitman to find him and he didn't expect him to bring Derek along. His lips parted slowly to call out the name he had been calling in his dreams all that time.

“Der–” 

Kevin wrapped one arm around Stiles' neck and used him as shield, while he stole Stiles' gun from his hand to point it at the boy's temple.

“Another step and he dies,” Kevin warned, his hold on Stiles so tight that he could barely breathe. 

Stiles grasped at his arm, digging his fingers into the fabric of his shirt and the skin underneath, trying to free himself but to no avail. 

Derek's mind had gone blank at the sight of Stiles, moreover at seeing the situation he was in. The first thing he had seen after walking into the top lounge was that bastard's gun pointed at Stiles' head. 

His vision had gone red, he had shot before even thinking about it. When his eyes had met Stiles' ones, the room around them had become just a blurred stain for a moment. 

Stiles was alive and well, which meant Derek was on time. 

His relief had been just as big as his terror in realizing who was just a few meters away from the boy.

  
He could see Stiles' face getting paler as Kevin tightened his hold around his neck. Derek tried not to black out, because he needed to be completely lucid for that.   
He couldn't let his blind rage take over, he needed to get Stiles out of there safely. 

  
“Guards!” Kevin called out. “Where are my men?!” He shouted at Derek, clearly panicking.   
The hand holding the gun against Stiles was shaking.

The situation was dangerous and Derek needed to think fast. 

Jackson walked in just then, pushing a new magazine into his gun. He was as soaked in sweat as Derek was. 

“These last ones were tough, but I think I won this tim–” he looked up and immediately got the seriousness of the situation. 

  
He saw Stiles being held hostage and his first instinct was that of throwing himself at Kevin, but Derek stretched one arm out, blocking his way.

“Two against one,” Kevin licked his lips nervously. “You're playing dirty, hitman.” 

  
Derek didn't flinch.   
Stiles was reaching out his arms to him, but as much as the only thing Derek wanted was to run to him, hold him to his chest and never let him go again, he couldn't let his feelings get in the way. 

Not now. 

“Release him, you're outnumbered.”

  
Kevin broke into a sick laugh.

“That's not the way I see it.”   
He pressed the cold muzzle of the gun against Stiles' cheek.   
“I can blow his brains up before you can even blink. I have the upper hand as long as I hold this cheap whore.” 

  
Derek's sight blacked out for a split second at those words. 

No one – literally no one – could point a gun at Stiles Stilinski and hope to come out of it alive. 

Derek raised his gun in a haze and shot a bullet at Kevin's shoulder. His aim was perfect to the millimeter and the blow made Kevin lose his hold on the boy. 

Stiles easily freed himself and ran into Derek's arms without thinking twice.  
He wrapped his own arms tightly around the man's waist and hid his face in his chest. 

He couldn't believe what his senses were telling him. Derek's scent filled his lungs, he was there for him to hold and his heartbeat filled Stiles' ears.

Derek wrapped his free arm around Stiles, drowning one hand into his hair and pressing his lips on Stiles' head.   
It was the best feeling in the world – holding Stiles in his arms. 

He was safe as long as he was there, but Derek couldn't linger on that moment for much longer. 

  
His eyes had never left his target. His other arm was still pointed at Kevin, his gun well-aimed. He could end his life just like that, it was enough to shoot him.   
But Derek had other plans. 

Jackson was aiming his own gun at Kevin as well. The man was holding his bleeding shoulders and he looked dazed, but he was far from being unconscious. 

Jackson was shifting his gaze between Stiles in Derek's arms and Kevin. He was extremely relieved in seeing that Stiles was fine, and for once, relief was stronger than any other emotion he was feeling at that moment while watching that scene. 

“Take him home,” Derek ordered him all of a sudden, still not removing his eyes from Kevin.

Stiles lifted his head from Derek's chest with wide eyes.

“What? No!” 

He was not going to leave Derek there alone, he was not going to separate from him again. 

Derek easily freed himself from Stiles' hold and pushed him aside, to where Jackson was.

“Get out of here, now.” 

Jackson looked concerned. “Are you sure you can do this alone–” 

Derek shot him a death glare. His eyes were like the ones of a wild animal. 

“Now.” 

  
Jackson couldn't completely agree with Derek's plan, but he knew there was no time for discussion.   
He wrapped one arm around Stiles' waist and literally dragged the boy out of the lounge while Stiles cried out Derek's name and tried to escape Jackson's hold more than once.

Ignoring Stiles' desperate voice was one of the hardest things Derek had ever done in his life. 

But he had a job to accomplish, and as soon as silence fell on the building again, he walked over to where Kevin was desperately trying to point his gun at him – but with a bleeding hand and a bleeding shoulder it was hard to take a good aim.

“Well, hitman...” Kevin began. He never seemed to lose his arrogance. 

“There's no glory in killing someone who can't even defend himself properly, you know?” 

Derek smirked. 

“I'm not looking for glory,” his voice was lower than usual, but it wasn't his demons speaking. Derek was perfectly himself this time. 

“And by the way, who said I'm going to kill you? This is just the beginning.”

  
Kevin suddenly came to know the real meaning of fear.


	26. Chapter 26

Stiles ran past Jackson the moment the man turned his back. 

The man rolled his eyes and easily caught up with the boy at the entrance before he could open the door, grabbing his arm in a tight grip.

“Not again,” he said in an angry tone, shoving Stiles back into the living room. 

The night had been rough and he didn't have enough self-control to be as careful as he always was around Stiles. 

  
The whole ride home had been a torture, with Stiles talking nonstop about how they should totally go back and help Derek out because Kevin was a dangerous man and other nonsense like that. 

_There's not a single living soul in that building except Derek and him! ,_ Jackson had shouted at some point. 

He knew better, since half of the bodies scattered on every floor of that hotel had fallen victim to his gun.   
But it hadn't been enough to convince Stiles, who had kept ranting about how they still needed to check if Derek could actually deal with Kevin alone. 

Jackson knew that Stiles actually just wanted to be with Derek.  
He had spent the whole time in the car kneeling on the front seat, looking back at the road they were leaving behind them, probably longing to go back in Derek's arms. 

Jackson had tightened his grip around the steering wheel and said nothing, but his stomach had twisted in a million different ways and none of those was pleasant.

He couldn't blame Stiles for being that explicit about his feelings for Derek, since he had never mentioned having any interest in Jackson in the first place.   
Jackson had really started thinking he had just gone too far with his imagination, and now he paid the consequences. 

Consequences that had taken the form of a rebelling Stiles who's constantly trying to escape his grip to run back to the other side of the city.

  
“He needs help, we can't leave him alone!” Stiles cried, clenching his fists and looking at Jackson with a challenging stare. 

He had said that line at least twenty times in the last hour and Jackson could feel the beginning of a headache. He felt like he was dealing with a whining teenager.

“How exactly are you planning to help him?” He crossed his arms, blocking the way to the door and scrutinizing the look of pure frustration on Stiles's face. 

“You almost died tonight. What the hell were you thinking?” 

  
Stiles sulked, crossing his own arms as if he wanted to mirror Jackson's doing. 

“I... I wanted to settle everything by myself. It's no one's business but mine. It's my duty,” his eyes went wide as he suddenly realized what his words implied.

“...Derek can't do that, I don't want him to be in danger because of me again! I need to do this on my own!” 

He tried to walk past Jackson once more, but a single hand on his chest was enough to push him back abruptly.  
He fell on the couch gracelessly, shock painted all over his face.   
Jackson was treating him with no delicacy at all and he was not used to that. 

Jackson's face was dark.

“Derek is in this situation because of your reckless doing. Luckily enough, he can handle it alone.   
But that's exactly the point – he can do it alone,” he shot a glare at Stiles.   
“You would only make things difficult for him. His priority is always to protect you, and he can't do that while dealing with Kevin at the same time. Don't you get that by now?”

He thought the events back at the hotel had been enough to make Stiles understand how dangerous things could get if he stayed there. Kevin was always going to use him against Derek, one way or another.

Derek couldn't handle both things at the same time, Jackson knew it. He knew exactly why Derek had asked him to take Stiles away and this time, he was going to do his job properly. 

  
Stiles looked down at his feet. 

Reckless doing – maybe Jackson was right. He had been so naïve. If Kevin hadn't been the sick torturer he was, Stiles could have been dead the very moment he had walked into that building. 

Derek and Jackson had to run all the way to Manhattan to save his ass, and Derek was still there. 

In the end, he was always the one putting Derek in danger, even when he tried to change that.

  
Jackson sighed, realizing he had been a bit too harsh with his words. 

He felt bitter and hopeless because he knew how things were going to turn out between Derek and Stiles – it wasn't hard to imagine, not after that hug – and he knew that his time with Stiles was almost over,   
which meant he was going to leave his side with nothing but bittersweet memories of someone he could never have and feelings he was never supposed to get in the first place. 

Jackson was usually good at hiding his mood, but not this time.   
It was just painful and maybe he actually didn't want to hide it. 

Maybe he wanted to show Stiles how bitter he was, maybe he secretly wanted Stiles to feel guilty about it. 

Which was the most selfish thing he could do. 

It was not Stiles' fault that he had those feelings for Derek, and it certainly wasn't Stiles' fault that Jackson had fallen for him. 

Furthermore, he knew how hard the whole situation already was for the boy, he didn't need any more problems.

Jackson knew everything, but he still couldn't control his heart. He felt frustrated and he couldn't bring himself to hide it. 

  
Stiles probably knew by then, because he was looking at him with a strange light in his eyes. 

He was aware that something was bothering Jackson and he was trying to understand if it was his fault. 

It was always the first thing Stiles did – trying to understand if he was at fault, no matter the situation – and Jackson didn't want to see any more pain in those beautiful, bright eyes. 

So he looked away. 

“You're right,” Stiles murmured, looking down at his lap. 

He couldn't bear Jackson's eyes, they were devastating: the man had never looked so broken before and Stiles knew exactly why. 

He felt guilty and incredibly uncomfortable with him now – which was really sad for Stiles, considering how much he was fond of Jackson. 

He could basically say Jackson was his best friend, but he knew that was exactly the problem: Jackson didn't want to be just his friend and Stiles couldn't give him what he wanted. 

“Still,” he went on, his voice slightly trembling.  
“I can't help but be worried for him. I wish I could help him... I wish I could do something, anything... Make sure he's safe, at least.  
I didn't want any of this to happen, but I realize what I did was incredibly stupid... And now I'm putting Derek in danger once again, and I can't deal with the thought of what could happen to him. I just can't,” 

Stiles covered his face with his hands, exhaling a long, shaky breath. He wasn't crying, but he certainly was distraught by the possibility of losing Derek again. 

Jackson wanted to tell him that there was no need to worry – Derek was alone with Kevin and the latter didn't look like he had any chance against the hitman.   
Derek was going to deal with him and come out of it without a scratch, most probably. 

But he knew those were meaningless words to Stiles' ears. He was not going to calm down until he could be sure Derek was going to be fine.

Jackson decided to grant him this one last wish, in the name of the feelings he had for him.

  
“I got it,” he said, sighing deeply.   
“I'm going back to help him, alright?” 

Stiles looked up to meet Jackson's eyes, bewilderment all over his face. 

“Really?!” 

Jackson wondered how much Stiles looked like a child in that moment.   
He wished he could have that innocence for himself. He wanted to lean down and kiss those cherry lips. 

  
_In another life, maybe._

  
“Yes,” he nodded, looking around the room. “Just promise me you'll stay here, no matter how long it takes. I need – we both need to know you're safe.”

He stared right into Stiles' eyes at the last words. Stiles returned the gaze and immediately nodded – he had learned his lesson.   
There was just the purest sincerity in Jackson's eyes and that was enough to tell him how important it was for the man that Stiles stayed there.

“I'll be waiting for you to come back.” 

The least he could do was to make that promise.

Jackson searched through his pockets and fished out his mobile phone. 

“I guess you don't have your phone anymore,” he gave it to Stiles.   
“Take this.” 

Stiles looked at the phone in his palm with furrowed eyebrows. “How are you going to do without it?” 

Jackson laughed. “Don't worry, I have many phones.”

“Oh,” was all Stiles said, a little embarrassed if he had to be honest.   
Of course, money wasn't a problem for Jackson either. 

The man walked to the door without wasting any more time. 

“See you later,” he said, as if he was just going out to do groceries.

  
He didn't wait for a reply. Jackson wasn't good with goodbyes and he didn't want Stiles to know that was one.

  
_...._...._

Jackson had no intention of going back to Manhattan. 

Five minutes after leaving Stiles, the hitman parked his car on the side of the road in a small alley, around two blocks away from Derek's apartment. 

He turned off the engine, his hands slipping from the steering wheel and dropping on his lap.   
He sighed, feeling exhausted – it was barely past midnight but he already had a long night on his shoulders, or so it felt like. 

He had just moved the car away from the apartment so that Stiles would think he was gone. He knew there was no point in going back – not only Derek could and wanted to handle the situation by himself, but he also most probably didn't want to have Jackson by his side.

Stiles' feelings were pretty clear too, still, he knew Derek enough to know he just didn't want to see Jackson around for a while. 

They were going to have a talk sooner or later, maybe a meeting to settle things between them, but Jackson knew it wasn't going to happen that night nor the next, most probably. 

  
He leaned against the backrest, his mind suddenly going back at the first time he had seen Stiles. 

It had been through a pair of binoculars, when he still was keeping an eye on him from afar, as Derek had asked him to. 

He used to spend entire nights hidden on the roof of the building in front of Derek's apartment, watching Stiles' every movement. 

There was never much to see: the kid either slept or read books.  
More than once, Jackson had thought he had to be a really boring kid. 

Sometimes he actually wished someone would burst through that door to try and take Stiles away so he could actually do something instead of just sitting there, spying on him.

He remembered how he used to think Derek would probably kill him if he only knew Jackson had those kinds of thoughts. 

Now he found that thought incredibly stupid as well – he would never wish Stiles any harm. 

  
He looked at the hands on his lap and wondered when things had started to change. 

Was it when he had first met Stiles in person? 

Could it be that he had started falling for him from the very first moment he had seen him? 

Impossible – Jackson wasn't the type to fall in love at first sight.

But then again, he wasn't even the type to fall in love, and yet, there he was.

Those few days at Derek's place had been incredibly pleasant. 

He remembered that night he had talked nonstop about all the funny things that had happened to him during his travels,  
he remembered how Stiles seemed to never stop laughing at his stories and how Derek had looked at them from the kitchen table, his usual unreadable expression in place – Jackson had the impression Derek wasn't as unaffected as he wanted them to believe, not that night. 

But his attention had been captured by Stiles' smile, so he didn't remember much about that night except for a pair of pretty eyes and wide smile. 

Was that perhaps when it had started? 

Jackson was not sure, but certainly something had changed after that night.

  
He threw his head back against the soft leather of the headrest and snorted. 

Did it really matter how it started, now that it had ended? 

Or better, could something that had never started in the first place, really end? 

Jackson's headache got stronger, but he still had one wish to grant. 

For Stiles. 

  
He opened the glove box and took his other phone.

  
_...._...._

Derek checked one more time to make sure he had removed everything.

The room was quiet and all the screens were off – the cameras around the hotel were still filming, but nothing was being registered.   
All the videos were double recorded on compact discs and hard drives – the first laid now inside Derek's pocket, the latter were carefully deleted one by one by Derek himself. 

There was no trace of his presence or of Jackson's in that building, nor was there any frame of Kevin and his men. 

The agents of The Nogitsune were going to have a hard time figuring out what had happened, the next day.

  
Derek left the room and walked down the corridor to the stairs, ignoring all the bodies piled along the path.   
He would usually call a squad to clean up the mess he made during his jobs, but not this time.

He was not interested in keeping the place clean – it was Kevin's building anyway, there wasn't going to be any visitor or police investigating on that massacre. 

The organization would cover everything, it was in their own interest as well. Also, Derek wanted to leave a message. 

The Nogitsune seemed to love leaving messages, words hanging in the air and meant to instill fear in the heart of those who received the missive – in one word, threats. 

Derek wanted to be the one instilling fear in the heart of the organization, this time.  
And what looked more threatening than a bunch of dead bodies scattered around an entire building?

  
Derek reached the top floor again and entered the lounge, smirking to himself. 

Kevin, though Kevin wasn't going to be among those dead bodies. 

The man laid on the ground, his arms and legs tied as they had been for a while now. He had a napkin stuffed into his mouth that was almost suffocating him.

As soon as he saw Derek, his eyes went wide and he started wriggling in a vain attempt of freeing himself, while at the same time mumbling something against the cloth.

Derek walked over to him and squatted beside his body, tilting his head to the side like a curious kid. He had a deranged look in his black eyes that was freaking Kevin out.

He looked like someone who could go insane at any time, and Kevin was afraid that was exactly what Derek was going to do with him.   
He knew it was going to be a game he would not like. 

“I can't hear you,” Derek said, the gun ever-present in one of his hands.   
He looked amused. 

Kevin couldn't feel his hands and feet anymore. The rope was tied tightly around his wrists and ankles, it was impossible for him to free himself. He felt like his far ends were about to fall off – the hitman probably wouldn't have cared even if it really happened. 

Derek suddenly reached out his free hand and pulled the napkin out of Kevin's mouth. The man breathed in as much air as he could. 

“So?” Derek pushed, annoyed. 

He clearly wasn't interested in whatever Kevin wanted to say, he was probably just playing with him, making him believe there was even just a small chance Kevin could talk his way out of that mess. 

“I know you're not stupid, hitman,” Kevin panted. 

“You think it'll be over if you kill me? I have a whole organization behind me,” he smirked, looking into the deep blackness of Derek's eyes. 

He wanted to see those dark holes filled with terror. Kevin was good at manipulating people – the best, even. 

“Just give up on whatever you have on your mind. That little whore is not worth the trouble. The Nogitsune will hunt you down if you–”

  
“Boring,” 

Derek stuffed the napkin back into Kevin's mouth and stood up just when his mobile phone started vibrating in his pocket. 

Jackson. He didn't expect anyone else. 

Why the hell was he calling him? His instructions had been pretty clear. 

He still picked up the phone – it could be about Stiles. 

“Make it short.”

“ _How is it going?_ ”

Jackson sounded no different from the usual and he clearly ignored Derek's words. _“Do you need help?”_

Derek looked at Kevin tied on the floor and pressed his heavy boot against his cheek, ignoring his muffled cries. 

“No.” 

Jackson sighed. “ _Fine... Just called to ask you that. Stiles is home and safe.”_

As much as Derek was relieved in hearing that Stiles had reached the apartment safely, that call sounded completely useless to his ears and he didn't have time to waste on Jackson.

“Hanging up,” he warned, removing the phone from his ear.

_“Derek, wait!”_

The hitman sighed. “What?”

Jackson seemed to have a hard time finding the right words to say next. He stayed silent for a few moments, pushing Derek's annoyance over a dangerous threshold. 

  
_“Are you... are you going back to Stiles when you're done there?”_

Derek didn't expect such a question, but he couldn't blame Jackson for asking.   
After all the time he had spent running away from the boy, wondering whether he was actually going back to Stiles or not was more than reasonable.

As much as Derek still believed he was not suited to stay by Stiles' side, he couldn't deny that the only thing he wanted to do was exactly that.   
And judging from Stiles' reaction at his appearance, the boy didn't seem scared of him anymore.

He didn't know what had happened during that time he had been away, but apparently Stiles had forgiven him, taking away the only thing that prevented Derek from reappearing in his life again, aside from his own self-awareness. 

Plus, Derek knew there was truth in Kevin's words. Even if he killed him, it probably wasn't going to be over so easily. 

Stiles needed to be protected, and by now Derek knew he could only be safe as long as he was next to him.   
He had left Stiles in Jackson's hands and the boy had almost died Derek was not going to make the same mistake again.   
He needed to look after Stiles by himself. 

At that point, the answer to Jackson's question could only be one. 

  
“Yes.” 

  
_...._...._

_“Yes.”_

  
Jackson sighed. Was there ever any doubt? Derek's answer confirmed that there was no space for him near Stiles anymore. 

He somehow needed to hear it from the hitman, to be sure Stiles was going to be fine and safe. 

And happy. 

Jackson scratched the last part out of his mind. He knew it was the truth but he couldn't admit it to himself. He still had some pride, even after Stiles's clear refusal. 

“ _Hanging up now,”_ Derek repeated, and this time the line went dead for real. 

  
Jackson dropped one arm on his lap and looked outside of the car window. New York's night sky was always so dark and starless, but the endless stretch of black reminded him of how wide that world was. 

And in that world, he was still a hitman and he still had several jobs left on hold. He had pushed everything back because of Stiles, but now he was finally free. 

He could go back to doing what he did best, and with time, he could hope to forget about a certain pair of bright eyes. 

He looked at the phone he still held in his hand and wondered about calling Stiles one last time.

What could he possibly tell him? 

He had just thought he didn't want Stiles to know he was saying goodbye, but he was changing his mind now. 

He wanted to hear his voice just once more. 

  
He dialed the number.

  
_...._...._

Stiles paced the room back and forth, one hand constantly running through his hair or fidgeting with anything, as he always did when he was nervous.

Jackson had left some time before, but probably not long enough to reach the hotel, even though there was barely any traffic at that time of the night. 

Stiles' eyes were constantly shifting between the door and the phone on the table.   
The will to just swing that door open and run back to Derek was strong in him, but Jackson's words kept echoing in his head: he knew he was just going to be a burden for Derek. 

He could be of no help, not even now that he could handle a gun. There was still an ocean between his skills and Derek's, and dealing with someone like Kevin required the highest level of skills – he knew it now. 

More than once during that short time, he had caught himself hand on the door knob, ready to run away, but then he would find his rationality again. 

He couldn't mess up Derek's plan, it could be lethal for the three of them.   
Jackson was going to help him out, it was enough. Stiles was useless, but somehow this time he didn't perceive it as something negative. 

He simply acknowledged that there were still a lot of things he needed to learn before he could call himself skilled enough for that job.

Not that he had any intention of becoming a hitman – he just needed to be good enough to defend himself.   
And anyway, after that night, he had the impression he wasn't going to need protection anymore. 

  
The phone started ringing just as his thoughts were wandering in Kevin's direction, saving him from more painful recollections. He grabbed it as if his life depended on it and didn't even look at the screen before picking up.

“Yes?!” He shouted into the receiver, holding on the phone for dear life.

_“Stiles”_

Stiles released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Jackson's relaxed voice immediately calmed him down.   
If Jackson sounded so at ease, nothing bad could have happened, right? 

“Jax... are you alright?” He asked, not without a hint of worry in his voice.  
“Are you with Derek already? What's going on?”

  
Jackson went straight to the point. 

_“Stiles, I'm going to be away for a while.”_

  
Stiles blinked twice without seeing anything around him, except a thick fog slowly covering his eyes.   
He felt like he had missed some passage. 

What was Jackson saying all of a sudden? 

“What do you mean?” 

He paced the room once more, pushing his own hair back in a gesture full of nervousness. 

“Where is Derek? Aren't you going to help him?”

  
 _“Don't worry about him. He's better on his own,”_  
he sounded extremely tired and Stiles couldn't help but shift his focus from Derek to Jackson. 

_Was Jackson tired because of what had happened or was there another reason?_

_And if so, what could it possibly be?_

Jackson interrupted his flow of thoughts. 

“ _You just need to know everything's going to be fine.”_

  
Stiles wondered if Jackson had talked to Derek, because even though he was saying the same things he had been claiming the whole evening, he still sounded somehow different, like he had a confirmation of his thoughts. 

Stiles also recognized a sweet note in the man's voice, but strangely enough, he sounded somehow sad at the same time.  
He didn't understand the reason behind that call but he felt like Jackson was trying to tell him something important, or to say goodbye. 

Both possibilities left Stiles' heart aching. 

He opened his mouth without really knowing what to say.

“Jackson...” 

“ _Stiles._ ” 

Stiles swallowed hard. The way the man had pronounced his name carried a dark feeling to it. He was not wrong in thinking Jackson wanted to tell him something.

  
“...Yes.”

  
_“I wish our paths had crossed at a better time.... Take care of yourself and be happy._   
_If we meet again and Derek is not treating you right, I won't hold myself back anymore.”_

  
Stiles's eyes went wide, heat suddenly rising to his cheeks.   
Just a few words, but they implied so many things and Stiles felt his head exploding. 

He didn't even know where to begin and he didn't know what hurt the most – the content of Jackson's words or the way he had said those words, almost as if he had to drag each word out of his mouth with difficulty.

It sounded like a speech Jackson had prepared long before, but apparently it was still painful for him, even if he had repeated it over and over in his mind. 

Stiles could feel all of that in those few lines. His mouth went dry.   
Jackson was not talking anymore but Stiles could still hear him breathing. 

He lowered the phone.   
Was he supposed to answer such painful words? 

And what was he supposed to say? 

Stiles had the feeling that no matter what he would say, it was still not going to be enough to soothe Jackson's heart. 

Nothing he would say could do that, when Stiles was exactly the reason Jackson was hurting in the first place.

He suddenly realized that Jackson was really trying to say goodbye to him and to his feelings, which explained why he had been looking so sad the whole night. 

_How long had he been planning to disappear?_

  
Stiles didn't want to say goodbye. Jackson was still his friend.   
Was it so selfish to wish the man could still be his friend after what had happened...? 

Maybe it was. Maybe Jackson was suffering too much, and that was why he was trying to get away now. 

Maybe Stiles simply had to accept it, respect his feelings and let him go. 

He brought the phone back to his ear. 

  
“Jackson–” 

He stopped before adding anything else – there was no use anymore. The call had been cut off.

Stiles listened to the monotonous sound for some moments, shock painted all over his face. 

_That was it?_

All the time spent with Jackson, the affection slowly grown between them that neither one could deny, those small moments of happiness – everything was reduced to that short call? 

_That dead line was all that was left between them?_

  
Shock quickly turned into rage at the realization that Jackson had called to say goodbye to him, but he hadn't given Stiles the chance to do the same. 

How was he supposed to feel now? 

He knew exactly what bothered Jackson, but what could he do about it? 

He was not going to feel guilty for something he had no control over – his heart, his feelings, his attraction for Derek. 

Jackson knew all that from the beginning, maybe even before Stiles did, and yet now he was acting like he wanted Stiles to suffer for that – he wanted Stiles to feel his absence, to know that he had lost Jackson's friendship. 

Stiles couldn't accept that. He called back the number and waited impatiently for the man to answer. 

  
_We're sorry, the number you're trying to reach is not in service at this time._   
_Please check the number, or try your call again._

  
Stiles felt the frustration building up inside him. 

Not only had Jackson lied to him about going to help Derek, but now he was just going to disappear like that! 

He almost threw away the phone, but then resolved it wasn't going to change anything. He was not going to let Jackson get away with that miserable call, but there was no way he could do anything about it now.   
All he could do was to wait for Derek to come home – because Derek was going to come home, right? – hopefully unharmed, whether he finished Kevin off or not. 

Even Kevin's death was secondary to him, compared to the thought of an injured Derek. Stiles didn't want to live the nightmare all over again.

He abandoned himself on the couch, dropping the phone beside him. He looked at it and sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration. 

  
_I'm not coming after you because I know I would just cause you more trouble, but please Derek... come home soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm few hours late cause I had exams😢😢 sowwy


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING 🚫 : the following chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and gore that can potentially trigger your sensibility. I suggest you skip this chapter if mentions of blood and violence of any sort bothers you.

  
Kevin woke up to a bucket of ice cold water poured over him. 

He let out a cry of shock and shook his head, feeling the wet hair stuck to his temples and forehead. His first instinct was that of brushing his hands over his face, but he soon realized he couldn't move his arms.

He looked around, water dripping into his eyes and making it hard for him to open them properly.   
He couldn't see much, but he had heard the echo of his voice so he guessed the room was a wide one. 

He looked down to make sure he was not wounded – except the fact that he was tied arms and legs to a chair, there were no serious blood trails on his white shirt and pants.

Something warm was dripping down his nose, and sticking his tongue out, he tasted a bitter flavor that reminded him of something metallic.   
Blood. 

Then he realized that the last thing he remembered before the blackout was the fist of the hitman smashing his face. He probably had a broken nose, but the pain was bearable. 

  
Kevin noticed that his spot was the only one lighted in the whole room, which made impossible for him to see his surroundings. 

He felt like he was on a small island, surrounded only by darkness. He looked up, squinting his eyes against the light – he could just tell it was an old lamp from the lighting and the way it hung from the ceiling.  
Kevin couldn't see the ceiling either but he could tell it was a high one.

  
“What the...” 

He felt dizzy, but he still wondered where the water had come from. There was no one and nothing around him, not even a bucket. 

A couple of meters in front of him was already complete darkness, so he couldn't see who was around him and how many people were there to keep him company. 

That hitman looked like someone who preferred to work alone, but Kevin guessed that he was just another coward who had called for backup because he didn't want to deal with him on his own. 

He smirked at the thought – Kevin was still convinced he was somehow threatening to Derek.

He tried to tear his arms away from the chair, but they were tied tightly against the back of it, his shoulders strained almost to the limit. His ankles were tied to the front instead, each to one chair leg. 

  
“Are we playing hide and seek?!” Kevin shouted to the void, looking around in the blackness surrounding him. 

He broke into one of his sick laughs, throwing his head back as he let out those scary sounds that didn't resemble a laugh at all.   
Not a human one, at least. 

  
“Come out to play, hitman. Did you call your friends to back your ass up?   
Where are you all?” 

No answer reached his ears. Kevin kept giggling for a while, until he heard a noise. It wasn't isolated, more noises came soon after that.  
Kevin recognized those as steps, and they were slowly approaching him – he didn't know from which direction.

Eventually, a pair of black combat boots emerged from that darkness, soon followed by a pair of black pants and a white tank top. 

Kevin leaned back against his chair as Derek walked into that small spotlight, stopping just at the edge of it, part of his body still in the dark. He looked imposing, standing there in front of him while Kevin couldn't move from that chair. 

The hitman's eyes were as black as the space around him. He was dressed like someone who had some hard work to do: the black pants were actually part of an overall whose suspenders were left detached and the buckles hung knee-high in front of the man.   
His arms were bare, the tank top perfectly outlining his muscular upper body. 

  
Kevin's smile slowly died out. The arm of the man in front of him was completely covered in black ink, but that wasn't what had caught his attention. 

Derek's hand was holding onto something – a baseball bat, which was resting on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing.   
The stick looked old and had several dark streaks on one end. Kevin could imagine what those stains were. 

He let reality sink in – he was going to be the next dark stain on that wood. 

Just then, Derek smirked, opening one arm so as to show his guest the place.

  
“Welcome,” he said, his baritone voice echoing throughout the wide hall, “to the last place you will ever see.” 

His smirk grew wider and sicker. 

Kevin stared at those soulless eyes – the smirk didn't reach them. There was no light in them, but he could swear the hitman had a completely different expression on his face when he was holding Stiles hostage.   
He wondered if he was some kind of psycho, someone with a double personality.

How could someone hide their feelings so well, to the point of looking so heartless? 

As hard as Kevin tried, he knew he had never been able to completely hide the fact that he didn't feel anything for anyone. He could put on a human mask, but the smartest people could still tell that he was faking every emotion. 

  
But, the man in front of him was a mystery. He was staring at him with those two black holes he had as eyes, still Kevin was sure he had seen a spark in that blackness at the sight of Stiles. 

So, was that man a human or a monster? 

Could a mix of the two exist in that world?

Either way, Kevin knew he was going to only meet the monster. 

“Where am I?” Kevin asked, his breath caught in his throat. “How many of you fuckers are out there?” 

Derek didn't even flinch. 

“You just need to know we're not in New York and no one can find this place so don't try anything stupid,” he grinned. “Not that you can.”

Kevin looked around, more agitated than before. 

Was that some kind of abandoned place out of the city?   
_How long had he stayed unconscious?_

He tried to come up with a way to get out of there but his mind was blank. Not good. Not good at all. 

“Also, this is finally just between you and me,” Derek went on. 

He stepped forward and grabbed at Kevin's hair, pulling his head back with a jerk. The man closed his eyes against the light, but reopened them soon after to hold the hitman's stare.   
He didn't want to appear like a weakling.

Derek seemed to read his mind because his lips were still stretched in that derisive grin while his eyes pierced Kevin's face.

“You don't need to worry about anyone else but me,” he whispered in his face. 

He reached his ear and slowly added a few more words, “and believe me, I am enough.” 

Derek pulled back, releasing him from the painful grip, and put the baseball bat down, the round end touching the dusty ground.

“Because of you, I have lost that little peace I had in my life,” he began. 

“I lost my freedom when you started hunting me down, but I thought I had solved that when I faked my death and everyone in your stupid organization bought it.   
Then I met this kid and it started all over again...” 

Derek started walking in circles around the chair, dragging the bat on the ground. The most annoying noise Kevin's ears had ever heard, and he couldn't make it stop.   
He felt powerless and he hated it.

“Of all people, I had to meet the one who was closest to you, isn't it funny?” 

Kevin looked up, but Derek didn't look like someone who actually found it funny. His features were frozen.

“I lost my freedom, my jobs, my sleep – my mind too, at times,” Derek gritted his teeth. 

Those were memories he wanted to erase, but he knew it was better to keep them, so as to remind himself that he couldn't let it happen ever again. He stopped in his tracks, finding himself in front of Kevin again.

  
“And yet, you know what? I could live with that. I had somehow adjusted to my new life,” his own words surprised him. 

He had adjusted to his life with Stiles? 

Was it true? 

Of course it was. He had fallen so hard that now the only thing he actually wanted was to lead a peaceful life with that kid. 

Just a few months before he would have shot a hole in the brain of anyone who dared to suggest such a thing, and now here he was – taking revenge that wasn't even his. 

Because calling it a job was reductive, at this point – he was doing it for Stiles and for his tears.

Derek turned to the side to look at Kevin. “But you know what I really can't stand?” 

His voice got lower and he leaned down, grabbing at the arm of the chair with his free hand and staring right into the man's eyes. His fingers were shaking with rage. 

  
“I ended up dragging him to hell. I ended up putting a gun into his hands and pushing him to do something so reckless and so incredibly stupid.   
I was about to lose him,” he muttered through gritted teeth. 

It was too painful to even talk about it. “I never wanted to taint his soul, I never wanted to see his hands stained with blood, I never wanted any of this for him. And yet, it happened.   
And it's all because of you.” 

  
Kevin was slightly shaking, but he still managed to crack a smile and whisper,   
“Looks like I did a good job, then.” 

Derek took a step back and looked at the man tied up in front of him.   
No trace of smirks or grins or anything resembling any emotion, true or fake, on his face. 

“How did you do it?” 

Confusion seeped through Kevin's features for the first time.  
“What are you talking about?”

“When you beat him,” Derek said, his lips barely parting to let out the words. 

He looked frozen, but Kevin could tell he was extremely furious. It was even scarier because his face didn't show it, but Kevin could just feel his rage. 

“How did you do it? Did you push him down? Did you punch him?” 

  
Kevin was left speechless. Was he supposed to answer those questions? He kind of wanted to – it could be his own personal revenge against that bastard – but at the same time he knew it wouldn't be a smart move. 

Derek didn't need an answer anyway. He started swinging the baseball bat with fluid movements.

“Did you kick him?” He asked again. 

“I bet you did. With these,” he nodded at Kevin's legs.   
He tightened his grip on the bat and raised it over his right shoulder.

“We need to fix that right away.”

Next thing Kevin knew, he was crying in pain as Derek smashed both his legs with a single, powerful blow.   
The chair fell on one side, dragging the man with it. The weight crashed Kevin's right arm. 

Derek broke the other one with his stick soon after, destroying the back of the chair halfway in the process.  
In a matter of seconds, Kevin found himself with all of his limbs broken.

His eyes went wide in shock, though he couldn't see anything because of the sudden trauma. He was shaking from the pain, his cheek pressed against the dusty ground.

His spit was dripping over it from his open mouth, shaky breaths and moans the only sounds coming out of it. 

Kevin had imagined his death more than once – it was just natural, given the kind of life he led. 

At first, when he was just a little gangster collecting money for other bosses, he thought he would die the way most men in his position did: a well-aimed bullet during a gunfight with some stubborn bastard who refused to pay. 

Then he had become the boss and, as his empire grew, his personal fantasies about his death changed drastically – he had reached the point where he was sure he would die of old age, in his bed, surrounded by nothing but his wealth. 

It was a good way to die, in his opinion. 

But now those fantasies had shattered into a million pieces. Now he knew how he was going to die and he also knew when.   
His shaking pupils shifted from the ground to the man towering over him. 

That hitman really was a unique creature. He was about to achieve his goal – taking Kevin's life and yet his face showed no emotion. 

No pride, no satisfaction. He wasn't even smirking. He just looked like an empty shell. 

  
Kevin slowly parted his lips. “If you're waiting for me to beg... I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you.”   
His voice was weak and hoarse. 

Derek swung his bat while circling the broken chair. His heavy steps raised tons of dust from the ground and echoed in the wide space.

“Are you so eager to die?” 

He stopped in front of him again, looking at his body on the ground but still partially tied to the chair, even if his legs were free now.   
Not that he could move them. Kevin couldn't move a single inch and Derek was going to play on that detail. 

“I am not even remotely done with you.” 

Kevin could swear the man's features had distorted into a mask of pure sadism for a split second. 

It was like seeing the face of the Devil. 

It was terrifying in a way that couldn't be described with words.   
The last thing Kevin saw before blacking out was the stick going down on him once again.

When he woke up, the first thing Kevin felt was a heavy pressure inside his head and the sensation of floating in space. 

He opened his eyes and the same dark room appeared in front of him, but this time it was upside down.

Kevin looked around, quickly realizing the room was perfectly in place – he was the one hanging upside down. His broken arms dangled lifeless below him, his hands barely brushing the ground. 

He couldn't bend his arms but he could still feel his fingers.   
He looked down and noticed a big bucket positioned under his head. It was empty. He bent his neck forward with difficulty, trying to understand what exactly kept him hanging, but the light of the now familiar lamp made it hard to distinguish anything. 

He had the feeling his ankles were tied not only singularly, but also together, and the rope was pulling upwards, as if it was hooked to something – probably a hanger. 

He felt like a piece of meat in exposition, and it was probably how his butcher wanted him to feel.

Something warm was still dripping down his face, but it wasn't from his nose this time. He hardly remembered the last blow he had taken, but he imagined that half of his face was bleeding profusely now. One of his ears was also buzzing acutely. 

  
“Welcome back.” 

Kevin opened his eyes wide. His sight was a bit blurred but he still wondered how he didn't notice the chair a couple of meters away from him. 

It was turned away from him, and on it sat the man with the Devil's face, straddling it with grace.

Derek rested his crossed arms on the back of the chair, looking at his victim with curiosity.   
Kevin really looked like a carcass of those one could find in a butcher shop – a well-dressed calf, or a pig.

A pig was probably a more fitting role for the filthy being in front of him. 

  
Derek sighed and closed his eyes, deeply inhaling the scent of blood mixed with dust. He had waited so long for that moment, for the moment he would have that bastard in his hands, the moment he would free Stiles from his shadow. 

Now that he had Kevin in front of him, he felt like wanting to dwell on that moment for long, to enjoy every second – but he couldn't give priority to his selfish desires, not this time. 

“I hope you like the change of set-up,” he nodded at the thick, metal hanger holding Kevin upside down. 

The broken chair was nowhere to be found. 

“It's one of my favorites, but it has one flaw: all your blood is flowing down to your head as we speak, which means you'll be blind soon enough.  
You probably won't be conscious for long either so, unfortunately, I'll have to make it short.”   
He sighed, like he was disappointed, fishing a Sabre knife out of his pocket and handling it between his fingers with ease. 

Kevin's attention was caught by the shiny blade. He felt like his body was being stretched to the limit, and as much as he tried to, he couldn't find a way to escape that situation, which left him in the hands of his butcher. 

It was the worst feeling Kevin had ever experienced – he was not used to being on the powerless side of those deadly games. 

“Want to know something about me before we begin?” Derek said, looking at the sharp blade. 

“I'm the worst kind of human being that could walk this Earth. Sometimes I wonder if I'm even human at all.” He admitted, shrugging a bit, like it was something totally insignificant. 

He clearly didn't feel any shame or regret over his actions, he was a man without morals – his job requested those features.   
Still, there were hitmen who couldn't sleep well at night, the weight of their sins crashing their shoulders. 

Derek, on the other hand, had never lost a single night of sleep. The only thing keeping Derek awake lately had been Stiles' nightmares, but he was about to solve that problem as well. 

He glanced at his well-dressed piece of meat. Kevin was already starting to feel nauseated, the blood pressure in his brain was confusing his perceptions.   
He must have been hanging like that for a while.

Derek lowered his gaze, looking unaffected. 

  
He went on, “I killed, robbed, kidnapped... there are very few crimes I didn't commit. I've never felt guilty for any of it,” he looked up from the blade to meet Kevin's eyes. 

“And yet, I would never even think of doing what you did to him. Do you even consider yourself a man when...” he trailed off. 

He couldn't even bring himself to say the word rape, not if it was related to Stiles.

He didn't need to say it, though.   
Both men in that room knew exactly what Derek was talking about.   
He wondered if he couldn't bring himself to say that word because of Kevin's actions or because of his own actions. 

Derek had been about to become just like Kevin, even if just for a moment.   
The thought in itself would make him sick for days. He was still struggling to accept his actions – 

his mind was telling him to blame his demons, but Derek had recently discovered that under his armor, under all his layers of cold stone, buried deep inside in a corner of his chest lied a beating heart, although defective and covered in dust.   
And his heart blamed him every day for what he had done to Stiles– which was one of the reasons why he had seriously considered fleeing New York to never come back. 

  
Derek had never thought of himself as special or one of a kind. He thought the world he lived in was full of monsters just like him. 

When he had first been hired by The Nogitsune, he found the place full of well-trained puppets, but he knew they were controlled by a monster of his kind.  
In a way, there had been a time when he had thought he and Kevin could be similar creatures.

  
But now he could see all the differences: he had almost hurt Stiles in the most horrible way and he was still struggling to forgive himself – and yet, he was facing someone who had done the same thing on a regular basis to the boy and had never felt guilty about it, not even for a moment.

  
Derek tightened his fist around the wooden grip. The only thing preventing him from cutting Kevin into pieces was the thought of Stiles waiting for him at home. 

He wasn't going to be late – not again. 

He took a deep breath, waking up from his thoughts. He looked Kevin straight in the eyes, his rage overflowing from his every pore. 

“...To me, people like you are just scum. Maybe I'm not worth being called human, but you're not even a shadow of a human being.” 

He let his voice echo on the walls for a moment before getting up. He walked to the hanging man, still playing with the knife between his fingers. 

“But you don't need to worry, because I can fix it for you,” Derek explained, his voice changing drastically, sounding almost soothing. 

“I thought of many different ways to make it right...” he reached out and unzipped Kevin's pants. 

“You don't know how much I'd like to cut you into very small pieces right now, but you would probably die before I can even start and I don't want you to miss all the fun.” 

He used the knife to pull away the fabric of the briefs just enough to set his dick free. 

Kevin's eyes wouldn't leave the knife. He tried to move his arms but there was no way he could stop the hitman with his broken limbs. He followed the man's movements, barely even breathing.

The words leaving the hitman's mouth should have sounded somehow comforting – he wasn't going to tear him into pieces – but instead they only made Kevin wonder what could be Derek's backup plan, since apparently he wanted his victim to enjoy every moment of his agony.

Derek looked at the man's exposed genitals and grinned. 

“This is it?” He asked in a mocking tone.   
“I was not wrong thinking you're barely a man. I'd find it funny if I didn't know what filthy things you did with this... trinket,” his expression changed completely. 

He ran the blade along Kevin's whole length, slightly scratching the skin. The man was shaking all over, trying to hold himself back.   
He knew it could only get worse, no use in bawling already. 

  
“This was my initial plan,” Derek murmured, like he was talking to himself more than to his hostage.   
He teased Kevin's tip with the sharp point of the knife. He enjoyed the sight of a small drop of blood forming over it as he pressed the blade a bit harder.

“But unlike my other victims, you're one I don't want to smear my hands with. Not this way, at least,” he pulled away the knife and took some steps back. 

Kevin started breathing again, though he was more scared by the fact that he didn't understand what his torturer was doing.   
He was playing with him, that's for sure. 

But how far would he go with his games? 

And what would happen when he got tired of playing with him?

Derek slipped the knife back in his pocket. 

“So I changed my mind,” he concluded. 

Kevin was already exhaling a sigh of relief when Derek went on,   
“It's way cleaner if I do it like this,” he removed the gun from the holster behind his back and shot Kevin's crotch three times. 

One would have been enough, but Derek was there to make Kevin's last moments a living hell and that didn't include any kind of mercy. 

It took a fraction of a second for the man to realize that where once were his genitals, there was now only a bloody pulp.   
Some pieces of flesh fell in the bucket right in front of his eyes. 

Pieces of him. 

That was when he started screaming. 

  
Derek tilted his head to the side, looking at the blood slowly soaking the man's pants – the way the red liquid was slowly covering up the white fabric, staining the pureness of the cloth. It was fascinating.

“Shit,” Derek commented, his lips twitching while he faked concern. 

“I overdid it a bit, didn't I?” He put the gun away and walked again over to his hostage, squatting beside him and taking his right hand into his own.

He looked at the man's fingers attentively, touching each of them carefully, as if he was studying them.

Kevin had dropped his smart act by then. His traumatized brain was just starting to realize he had fallen into the hands of a psycho – which made death the best thing that could happen to him now, but it also meant that he was not going to be left in the hands of the Grim Reaper any soon. 

He looked to the side just as his voice was failing him after screaming so much. The hitman was holding his shaky hand and he wished he had lost feeling of it when he had broken his arm because whatever was going to happen, he knew his sufferings were far from over. 

  
“These are nasty hands,” Derek said all of a sudden. “They did many bad things. Cutting them off would be the best choice, but that would make it easier for you to die, wouldn't it?” 

Kevin was breathing quickly and heavily, exhaling indefinable sounds of pain while tears streamed down his temples. He feared the hitman's next move. 

Derek met his eyes and lifted the corner of his mouth in what was meant to be a sympathetic smirk. Then he pulled back Kevin's index finger in a single fluid movement, until he heard the bone breaking. 

This time the scream remained trapped in Kevin's throat, but he still opened his mouth, his face distorted in pain. 

“I've heard one harm can cure another,” Derek explained, grabbing at Kevin's middle finger and breaking that one as well. 

He waited for Kevin to stop screaming, “thought I could help you forget about your little cock.” 

He slowly broke his fingers one by one, until his right hand was reduced to a bunch of crooked fingers pointing in all directions but the right one. Derek was enjoying the pained sounds coming from the man's mouth as he felt his bones breaking under his touch.

The wide room was only filled with his screams and Derek realized that was the best song he had ever heard. 

“So... you met my old friend Peter,”

Derek moved to the side, grabbing at Kevin's left hand. He sounded like he was just having a casual conversation with him about trivial topics. The man looked at him and started shaking his head uncontrollably, eyes filled with tears. 

Derek was not sure whether he was denying knowing Peter or if he was just silently begging him to spare his other hand.   
Either way, he didn't care. 

  
He smirked, “Tough guy, wasn't he? I bet you thought he was the worst monster you could ever find.   
Must have felt reassuring to have someone like him by your side, until it lasted,” he wrapped his hand around Kevin's left index and the man shut his eyes, preparing for the pain. 

His body was desperately trying to shut down all his receptors and it was probably doing a good job, because after a certain threshold, he didn't feel that much pain anymore until a new harm showed up – then it started all over again. 

Derek noticed the wedding ring on the man's fourth finger and suddenly released the index from his hold, choosing to start from that one instead. 

Kevin was still wearing it, even if it probably didn't mean anything but a slave contract to him. All of Stiles' sufferings could be summed up with the ring Derek was staring at now. 

He wanted to get it out of his sight. 

  
“Want to know a secret?” 

Derek fished out his knife and quickly stabbed the knuckle while at the same time pulling at the appendage with his other hand. The finger fell off just like that, the ring clinking against the ground. 

“I'm even worse than him. I just hide it better,” he looked at the blood dripping from the wound and staining his hand with a dark smile on his face. 

Kevin's screams were just background noise to him now. The sight of blood was the only thing Derek's mind was registering, the only thing that mattered.   
He felt the need to lick it off his hand but used all his strength to hold it in. He couldn't linger on such delights.

He proceeded to break the remaining fingers one by one, just like he had done with the other hand. The sounds he was producing while he shattered each and every bone were enjoyable to his ears. 

“Don't you feel better knowing these hands won't play nasty anymore? Because if I have to be honest, I do.” 

He spelled the words in between the breaking process, ignoring Kevin's screams as easily as he had been ignoring the whole world around him since he was born.

  
“Please,” Kevin muttered through gritted teeth. 

He was literally falling apart, piece by piece, and at that point he didn't care about his pride anymore. It hurt too much and he didn't want to know what that psychopath was going to do next.

“How much did he pay you for this? I can pay you five– ten times more! Please!” He was crying out loud, cold sweat running down his forehead.

Derek got up as soon as he was done, looking at the piece of meat that once resembled a human being– at least for the world Kevin had managed to deceive all that time.  
He didn't expect him to still be able to formulate anything coherent, but apparently that monster was a tough one. 

_Just like him_ , Derek thought with a smirk. 

But unlike him, Kevin was a monster with not much left to live. 

“It's not about money,” Derek replied, his eyes suddenly getting lost somewhere. 

He remembered the night at the pub, the fear and the desperation in Stiles' eyes. 

At that time, he didn't care about the reason, he didn't care about knowing why that boy looked so broken – he just wanted his money, and if Stiles hadn't shown him that bag, he would have turned down the job. 

  
But how long did it take for Stiles to change that? 

At some point, money became a secondary concern. 

Derek didn't know when or how, but suddenly he was doing it for the boy and not for the payment. 

He looked away, realization making him numb. 

  
“...it was never for the money,” he murmured to himself. 

Kevin took Derek's sudden change of expression as a sign of reeling and decided to try once more in hopes of buying him. 

  
“Then what is it about? I can give you whatever you want, you know? There's nothing I can't put my hands on, in USA. Or even worldwide.   
Whatever you wish for. Money, properties, power...”   
he eyed the hitman, daring to push it further,

“...even boys.” 

  
The light in Derek's eyes changed for a split second at the last words. He jolted out of his thoughts, turning his head to Kevin again.

His jaw stiffened. 

Kevin was so pale, it looked like all the blood had flowed out of his body. He was halfway between a man and a corpse, but he still found enough strength to attempt a smirk.

  
“That's what you want, right? Every man has his... hobbies. Yours are not so different from mine.   
You kept the boy alive because you like him, isn't it?” His laugh sounded weak and forced.

“I can give you all the pretty boys you want. Stiles Stilinski is nothing compared to what I can provide you.  
Trust me, you will never be left unsatisfied for the rest of your life–”

  
Derek grabbed Kevin's jaws with both hands and forced his mouth open. He fished out the knife, pulled out the man's tongue and cut it off without even blinking. 

“Shut. Up.” 

He growled in his face, his features distorted by an uncontrollable rage. 

How dared that filthy pig disrespect Stiles even after all he had done to him?

How dared he saying something like that on Derek's face, when Stiles was exactly the reason he was hanging in there in the first place? 

Derek's mind was being pushed in the limbo between the human and the monster, but he closed his black eyes and fought back his darkness.

He had to finish the job quick and clean. Not a single moment of his time could be wasted on someone like Kevin Ito. 

He was not going to lose control. Not now, 

_I want to enjoy this. Not now._

_I need to go back to him._

  
He ripped off parts of Kevin's shirt and stuffed the cloth into the man's mouth, more to muffle the incoherent sounds coming out of it than to stop the bleeding. 

Derek was tired of playing. That thing hanging in front of him wasn't amusing anymore, it was just annoying and Derek had somewhere else to go, someone else waiting for his return. 

  
He looked at the knife in his hand, the blood on the blade was calling him.   
Derek felt a pleasant shiver running up his spine. 

Blood was so arousing, but the one on the knife wasn't enough to completely satisfy him.   
He brought the blade to his lips and licked some of the liquid off of it, tasting the bitter flavor. He hummed in pleasure, gulping down those few drops slowly and licking his lips soon after. 

  
Kevin looked at him with wide eyes, still screaming against the cloth that was almost suffocating him. 

A broken toy – that was how he appeared in Derek's eyes.

Derek grabbed at his jaw again, this time to push it down so as to expose the man's neck. His eyes were as empty as a frozen land while he pushed the tip of his knife against Kevin's skin. 

“Stiles Stilinski sends his regards,” Derek announced, his voice as emotionless as ever.

Those were the last words Kevin heard before the sharp blade slit his throat open, leaving him to gasp for air.   
Blood spurted everywhere, staining Derek's skin and clothes. 

Now, that was arousing.

Soon after, Derek went back to his chair, straddling it and resting his arms on the back once again, dropping the knife on the ground. 

He watched as the blood flowed out of Kevin's throat and slowly filled the bucket on the ground. It was a red waterfall and it looked beautiful in Derek's eyes.

Kevin spent his last moments looking straight into his murderer's eyes, shaking and suffocating on his own blood.   
The light of life was slowly leaving his steely eyes. Parts of him were scattered everywhere on the floor around him. 

Derek felt like he was looking at his own personal work of art. He rested his chin on his arms and tilted his head to the side, a sick grin ever-present on his lips.

  
He was going to enjoy the view as long as it lasted. 

_...._...._

The hall was deserted, as he had expected at that time of the night.   
A young man was sitting on the far right, playing with his phone.

He had dark bags under his eyes and a green backpack resting beside his feet. He looked like a college student – gray hoodie and ripped jeans. Maybe a reckless traveler.   
He was probably the same age as... 

  
Jackson shook his head and looked away.

  
Some rows ahead, a woman was reading a book while a man around her age was sleeping with his head on her thighs.   
Probably her boyfriend.   
She had mahogany hair and sweet features. 

When Jackson walked in the empty hall, she raised her eyes at the sound of steps, curiously eyeing the man. When their eyes met, she smiled at him.   
She had a soft look in her eyes that reminded him of...

Jackson smiled back. 

They were just two strangers exchanging a gesture of politeness with a complicity given by the situation they were both in. Late travelers with just a hint of insomnia. 

He walked to the desk, where a young woman appeared slightly surprised in seeing him.   
Her black hair was tied in a bun, showing her delicate face. 

Jackson stared at her for a while and sighed – 

why did everything remind him of that boy? 

Was he so hopeless? 

  
He just had a small bag with him, he really wasn't in the right mind to make big plans or even just to properly pack his things.   
He didn't need much anyway and he could buy everything he needed once he reached his destination. 

Destination that was unknown, even to him. 

Jackson just knew he wanted to get away from New York, and it made him laugh because it reminded him of how Derek had done the exact same thing not too long before. 

The reason behind both men's rushed departures was the same: Stiles Stilinski.

Wasn't it funny?

In Derek's case, it wasn't. 

He had serious reasons to run away – but the same thing couldn't be said for Jackson. 

The way he saw it now, it was all just a big joke. 

He had feelings that were never meant to bloom in the first place or be returned since the very beginning and he still managed to feel bitter about it. 

A big fat joke. 

  
What was he supposed to do with those feelings? 

To try and throw them away, for sure. No reason to keep them, no reason to hold on to something that was never going to happen. 

There wasn't even a single hope, in his case. 

No hope and no doubts that what he wished for was ever going to happen in that life. 

So why keep such burdening feelings? He needed to get rid of them and in order to do that, he needed to get away from New York.

  
“May I help you?” 

The young lady behind the counter had been looking at him for a while now. Jackson had been standing there without saying a word, and he could see that she was a bit confused from the small chink in her smile. 

He tried to make up for it with one of his charming smiles. 

“A ticket for the first departing flight, doesn't matter the destination,” he looked around at the almost empty hall, feeling more and more confident that it was the best choice for him. 

It had been a while since he had last done something exclusively for his own well-being. He needed some time for himself, and maybe an exciting job to get back on track. 

He had some left on hold in different parts of the world, so it really didn't matter where he was going – in every corner of the world there were people wishing to kill other people and most of them needed someone like Jackson to do that.

The employee quickly checked something on her screen.   
Her eyes were still glued to the computer when she eventually said, “The first flight is for London, in four hours. Round trip ticket?” 

She looked at Jackson again and didn't seem too surprised about the unusual request. 

Jackson slightly shook his head. “A one-way will be fine, thank you.”

  
He waited for the lady to tell him how much was due for the ticket and fished out his wallet, paying in cash. 

He really didn't know what he was going to do in London, nor where he could go from there, so there was no reason to buy a round trip. 

He took his ticket, made a slight bow and walked to the last row of chairs in the hall, the one in front of the big floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Jackson sat there, gracelessly, his legs spread out and one of his knees apparently unable to stay still. He had four hours to spend in that hall so he might as well get some good sleep.   
He didn't remember the last time he had a full night of sleep and strangely enough, he wasn't sleepy now either.

He looked out at the black sky and hoped that same darkness could somehow take over his mind and prevent him from thinking about the boy once again, but it was useless. 

He still had the echo of Stiles' laugh in his ears and his smile in front of his eyes. 

Jackson threw his head back and ran both hands over his face. He was tired, but not the kind of tired that could be fixed with sleep. 

He straightened his back and took the phone out of his pocket, turning it on again. There were some missed calls from Stiles. 

His fingers rested frozen on the keyboard, while his heart dialed the number. 

He was not going to call anymore. Not for the time being anyway. 

It was better like that, he was never going to get out of that mess if he kept surrendering. 

He checked the time and randomly opened the camera roll. There were just a few pictures, he wasn't the type to take pics and it was never safe to keep personal stuff on such an unreliable device. 

He suddenly realized that after all the time spent with Stiles, he had nothing that reminded him of the boy, not even a picture.   
Sure, he could use his skills and his connections to find whatever existing file was out there about Stiles, but it wasn't the same. 

He didn't have anything that proved he and Stiles had ever met. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Perfect.

Wasn't that amazing? 

It was going to be way easier for him to get rid of his annoying feelings if he didn't have anything that could make him think about the boy. 

It was better that way. Better that way. 

Jackson was a good liar – as his job required – but he wasn't good at lying to himself.

Although deep inside, he knew it was actually better like that. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

He put the phone away with a sigh. It was going to take a while before things would go back to normal. 

  
It was going to take a while to get over Stiles Stilinski. 

  
_...._...._

The sky was a dark blue ocean with shades of light gray where few clouds covered up the stars.

Indeed, there were many stars silently swimming in that ocean.  
The bright lights of the city didn't fully reach that place, leaving the sky to its most natural and charming form. 

  
Derek rested his back against the wall of the old storehouse.   
It wasn't a particularly warm night, yet he didn't feel the need to put on his jacket. His bare arms – as well as his tank top and the rest of his clothes – were stained with blood, but it didn't bother him. 

He actually liked it. 

Red suited him.

  
He fished his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and squeezed it, pushing one of them out of it and taking it between his lips. 

A few meters away from him was a pile of empty tanks and the air carried a faint smell of gasoline.

Derek pushed himself away from the wall and walked ahead, his steps slow and full of confidence. His mind was empty, but not in a bad way.   
He felt relaxed, accomplished.

He had total control over himself after a long time and he had never felt so good. 

No one would tell he was in such a good mood from his face: his features were as expressionless as ever, his eyes almost unfocused.   
The careless look that never abandoned him was still in place – the cigarette hanging from his lips only increased that impression. 

He lit it up and took a couple of mouthfulls, releasing the smoke to the sky, a single thought in his mind.

He looked down at the cigarette between his fingers, noticing how they were smeared with blood and how that blood was now smudging the cigarette as well. The sight only increased his good mood. 

It was such a perfect ending. 

Derek took one last puff and threw the cigarette blindly behind his back; the burning cinder landed on the wet ground a few meters away from him. 

  
A moment later, the whole perimeter of the storehouse was on fire, the flames slowly climbing up the walls and slipping through the cracks. 

Maybe the inner structure could withstand it, but everything that was inside certainly couldn't. A pile of ashes was all that would be left by the next morning. 

Derek walked away as the first windows started to explode. 

He didn't look back. There was nothing for him there. 

  
Everything he wanted was ahead of him and he really didn't have any more time to waste. 


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure smut 🚫

Stiles woke up with a jerk to the sound of a car horn of someone who certainly had a funny night.

New York never really slept, but that part of the city was usually really quiet, probably because they were away from the main center.

For a moment, he couldn't really tell where he was. He looked around, brushing locks of hair away from his eyes and recognizing the familiar living room. 

He had fallen asleep on the couch, the events of the night getting the best of him. He looked at the clock and noticed he had slept for just a little more than an hour.

It was late night, but New York was not yet in that mysterious limbo where one couldn't tell whether it was too late or too early. 

  
He got up, stretched his arms and realized he still wore the clothes he had picked to meet Kevin.  
Not that he had really dressed up for him, but he had still worn clothes a bit more extra than his average outfit: a fine white shirt and dark cropped jeans. 

Stiles stuck up his nose, feeling uncomfortable and dirty. He looked around the empty room and resolved it was maybe better to have a good shower and go to sleep in a real bed. 

Jackson wasn't going to come back and Derek was still a question mark.  
Stiles hoped he would come back, but he really didn't know what to think. 

For all he knew, that could be the beginning of his new life, alone.   
He might as well begin with fresh clothes and a good sleep.

He walked straight to the bathroom of what had been – and maybe still was at that point – Derek's room and turned on the water, waiting for it to get warm enough. 

He felt strangely happy, without a reason. He could guess Derek was going to take care of Kevin, but he didn't have any proof.   
He was still slightly worried about the fact that the hitman was alone, but deep inside he knew Derek could handle everything on his own. 

He had proved his skills more than once and Stiles trusted him. He was almost sure he was never going to see Kevin again. ...And he had met Derek again, even just for a short moment. 

  
Stiles shivered at the memory and hugged his waist the same way Derek had hugged him a few hours before.   
If he closed his eyes he could still feel his touch and his scent, and for a moment he thought about changing his mind about the shower. 

He wanted to preserve that scent for as long as it lingered on his clothes.  
It could be one of the very few memories of Derek he had left.

Stiles realized he was somehow traumatized by Derek's previous breakaway. He knew all the reasons behind it and still, he had left so easily that Stiles wasn't really sure whether he was really coming back or not. 

He had pushed him away at the hotel as well – even if it was to protect him.  
And maybe he was going to keep himself away from Stiles in order to keep protecting him. 

Stiles hoped it was not the case. He had so many things to tell him and he really wanted to find a solution that would allow them to be together. 

Derek needed to hear his words before making a decision that was going to affect both of them. But he could only talk with him if Derek ever came back. 

If not, Stiles was left with only a handful of memories, and he tried to recall all of them without a particular order, just to see how much he still remembered of the time spent with Derek.

  
They were just small things, but so important to him. 

Stiles recalled Derek's scent, his rough touch, the way his lips would wrap Stiles' so perfectly,  
the taste of his mouth, black coffee in the morning, the strong hold of his arms, 

the unmistakable sound of his bike when he was finally home. 

  
That sound would always make Stiles' heart skip a beat. Stiles ran both hands over his face and sighed deeply.

_My memories are so vivid I can still hear that sound,_ he shook his head in disappointment, a bittersweet smile on his lips.   
He could really hear the sound of Derek's bike down below, it was amazing how much he missed him and it was amazing what his mind could make up to fill the void. 

He shook his head again to get rid of the memory. 

The sound didn't stop. 

Stiles' smile froze on his lips. 

There was a bike parking in front of the building, he could hear it clearly.

_Wait a minute, this isn't my mind playing tricks on me._

_This is... real?_

  
He ran to the kitchen window, opened it and looked down, his mind in confusion. Was he having hallucinations? 

Maybe it was just a random bike, Derek wasn't the only owner of a bike in the whole of city. 

He looked around and spotted a black bike parked along the sidewalk in front of the entrance to their building. 

Stiles would recognize it everywhere – that was Derek's bike. 

  
He turned around and looked at the door with wide eyes. He could hear steady steps up the stairs.   
Someone was coming and that someone could be Derek. 

Stiles' heart was racing in his chest.

 _I must still be sleeping,_ he reasoned, but he kept his eyes on the entrance nonetheless. 

A moment later, the door slammed against the wall with violence, as if the new guest wanted to take it off its hinges. 

Stiles jolted and almost jumped back from the surprise, squeezing his eyes.   
He was almost too scared to look and find out it wasn't Derek, but someone from the organization or Kevin himself, ready to take him away. 

Eventually, he raised his eyes to the door. 

  
Derek was standing in the middle of the small corridor and looked completely deranged. 

Or better, his appearance looked completely deranged: his leather jacket fell sloppily on his shoulders, like he had worn it in a rush.   
It left one of his shoulders uncovered and revealed the bloodstained outfit under it. 

Stiles could see dark red stains on his white tank top, on his black overall and on his boots.   
Derek had blood even on his skin – his hands were completely blotched, his arms and face showed just minor stains, but it was still disturbing. 

Derek slammed the door closed again, dropping his helmet on the floor without a single care and took some steps towards Stiles. 

He was breathing heavily, like an animal on a hunt. 

Stiles looked for support on the kitchen table behind him and took in the overall appearance of the man in front of him, trying to see if there were any open wounds on his body that would explain all that blood.

Derek's eyes were completely dark and he didn't have a reassuring look on his face, but somehow, Stiles wasn't scared. 

Derek wasn't giving out those vibes he usually gave during his blackouts. It was something different this time. 

His eyes were dark but there was a light in them – he was present, he knew where he was and what he was doing.   
Stiles could tell that, and he could also tell Derek didn't have a single wound on his body. The blood wasn't his. 

  
Suddenly, Stiles felt a shiver running up his spine. Derek was looking at him like he wanted to eat him, and Stiles couldn't deny those eyes were making him excited. 

Still, he swallowed hard and didn't dare to move a single inch.

  
“Y-You're back,” he murmured in the darkness. 

The only faint light came from the window but it was enough to recognize faces and items in the room.   
The words slipped off his tongue full of relief. 

Derek was back, he was really back. 

Stiles didn't care about the reason, the only thing that mattered was that Derek was in front of him. He wanted to say so much but he felt like it wasn't the right moment. 

Derek didn't look like someone who wanted to talk and Stiles shivered again at the thought.

  
Derek took off his jacket and threw it away without removing his eyes from Stiles. He really looked like a beast eyeing his prey and he was extremely hungry. 

“I am,” he said,   
but it came out sounding more like a growl as he quickly walked over to Stiles and lifted him up in his arms, crushing his lips against the young boy's ones without further warning. 

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck like it was the most natural thing and after a first moment of shock, he pushed his lips against the hitman's, tasting his flavor mixed with the bitterness of blood.

Derek grabbed at his thighs and pushed him up against the nearest wall, his mouth sucking the life out of Stiles while his hands feverishly caressed his thighs. 

He didn't know how long he had waited for that moment – just him and Stiles, together. 

It wasn't planned, nothing was set, he was just following his burning desire, hoping Stiles would feel the same. 

He heard him moan in pleasure as he sucked his lower lip and hoped that was an answer to his unspoken question.  
Stiles tightened his legs around Derek's waist, holding himself up as the man brought both hands on his face, his palms cupping his cheeks and smearing Stiles' white skin with blood. 

The smell wasn't exactly pleasant, but the look on Derek's face was almost hypnotic and Stiles could feel himself slowly losing his mind.   
Before he knew it, he was slipping Derek's index finger between his lips, slowly twirling his tongue around it and tasting the blood without breaking the eye contact.

He didn't remember the last time he had been so intimate with someone, but he remembered for sure that he wasn't the type to initiate anything – and yet, there he was, sucking on Derek's finger and watching as the man choked on his breath.

Derek slipped his index out of Stiles' mouth, shooting a burning glare at him before assaulting his lips again. He clearly liked to dominate and Stiles let him, happily surrendering to his tongue wrapped around his own. 

Derek's breath was hot against his cheek and Stiles thought for a moment that he had never really imagined when it would happen, but he surely wasn't stepping back now.   
He had craved that intimacy for a long time, he wanted Derek so much it almost scared him. 

He knew there was no good or bad timing for what they were about to do, there was just desire and the will to be together.   
He had thought he wanted to have a long talk with Derek as soon as he came home, but this was so much better. 

Words could wait.

Derek's hands started undoing Stiles' shirt soon after. The man broke their kiss just to move further down – his lips found their way along Stiles' neck, leaving red marks all over his skin while his fingers easily undid button after button. He stopped on a particular spot, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh until a single drop of blood leaked from it. 

Derek licked it as Stiles' moans filled his ears. He could bottle up that sound and sell it as sex, there was absolutely no difference between the two things.   
But he was going to make sure to be the only one hearing it from now on.

His now bloodstained lips covered Stiles' again in a kiss that had absolutely nothing innocent about it.   
Derek grabbed his butt at the same time, clashing their bodies together as he grinded his crotch against Stiles', releasing a deep groan at the painful friction.

Stiles' eyes went wide – Derek was already half hard and suddenly clothes felt extremely superfluous.

“Oh my god...” 

He murmured through gritted teeth, pushing himself against Derek to feel more of that sensation. 

He threw his head back in pleasure, his hands looking for a grip on Derek's broad shoulders. Derek's hold on Stiles' ass only got tighter, as if he wanted to prevent the boy from getting away from the contact.   
Stiles' shirt was now open, his milky skin exposed to a pair of predator eyes, but it just wasn't enough. 

“I want you naked,” Derek mumbled in Stiles' ear, biting his lobe soon after and leaving a trail of wet kisses along Stiles' jaw. 

He needed to have him exposed and open for him as soon as possible, or he would lose his mind.

  
Stiles swallowed hard, those words echoing in his ears. Derek's voice had taken a deeper tone, and his voice was already deep in its natural state – now it was just lethal.   
His brain threatened to short out. 

“Sh-shower...” he managed to say, his lips barely parting and his throat going dry all of a sudden.

Derek realized there was a sound of flowing water just then. His ears were well-trained to catch even the faintest sound – still, he had missed that.  
Stiles had filled his whole mind, clouding his senses.

Dangerous, he thought. 

Derek liked to play with danger.

  
He pulled Stiles off the wall and carried him through the bedroom and to the bathroom, Stiles' lips blinding him with the way he was kissing Derek nonstop. 

The hitman put him down and quickly lifted his tank top, only to have his arms blocked by Stiles. The boy had a devilish look on his face as he helped Derek get rid of his clothes, but not before having a taste of his golden skin. 

Stiles's lips traced a path of kisses and small bites all along Derek's neck and chest while he caressed his arms. 

He noticed all the scars he had missed up until that moment, and he was curious about the story behind each of them.   
He was going to ask one day, but not now. 

  
He kept going down with his mouth – kissing and teasing his stomach and tracing the defined lines of his abs with his tongue – until he was on his knees in front of the hitman.

Stiles slowly pulled down Derek's overall, looking up to see his reaction. He had a flirty grin on his lips and Derek wondered if he was about to witness a side of Stiles he had never seen before.   
The thought only made him more aroused.

Stiles looked down at the man's crotch and stared at the bulge covered by the dark boxers in amazement.   
The size was considerable and he unconsciously licked his lips. 

Derek clenched his jaw at Stiles' lustful expression – he knew where that situation was going, but he had other plans.   
He pulled Stiles up and against his chest, biting his lips and undoing Stiles' pants at the same time. 

“Naughty,” he exhaled through gritted teeth – he sounded almost surprised. 

  
Stiles just smiled in return – he was about to show Derek just how naughty he could get.   
They both kicked away shoes and clothes until they were completely naked, and left everything on the floor without a second thought.

Derek opened the shower box and pushed Stiles inside, following him and closing the box behind him.  
It was big enough for the both of them. Stiles was caught under the hot stream and ran both hands on his face, his hair immediately getting wet and sticking on his forehead and cheeks. 

Derek took in the image of Stiles standing in front of him, his shiny eyes staring into Derek's soul and his cheeks slightly flushed. He looked like a wet kitten.   
A kitten that was all his. 

Derek pinned him against the wall, water flowing down both of their bodies and washing away all the blood. Stiles looked down at the red pool at their feet and his mind seemed to drift away. Derek grabbed his chin to meet his eyes again, trying to bring him back from wherever he had gotten lost in. 

Stiles stared at him for a while – the look in Derek's eyes seemed to say everything and nothing at the same time. 

  
Eventually, the hitman leaned in and joined their parted lips once again, so as to tell Stiles what was real and what was not, and that everything else was just a memory or a nightmare.   
He seemed to know exactly where Stiles' mind was wandering. 

Stiles closed his eyes with the image of Derek's wet face printed in his mind, the way his black hair fell on his forehead and that small drop running down his perfect nose.  
He hoped that wasn't a dream. 

  
Their tongues intertwined in a kiss that was wet in every possible way. The way Derek kissed him always took Stiles' breath away, to the point where he wasn't even able to close his mouth while kissing the hitman. 

Open-mouthed kisses were probably Derek's favorite. He sucked at Stiles' lips, the tips of their tongues randomly dancing around, almost playing with each other, while their hands were busy exploring each other's bodies. 

  
Stiles swallowed hard and reached down, eyes closed, until he found Derek's erection and wrapped his wet palm around it.   
He held his breath – it was hard and thick, and he could feel the prominent veins under his touch. His hand was shaking a little – it wasn't his first time and yet he felt so incredibly excited and scared all of a sudden.

What if Derek didn't like what he could do? 

He was so inexperienced, had just a few relationships on his shoulders and definitely not much great sex, while Derek surely had better comparisons. 

  
Derek backed away from the kiss to take a deep breath.   
He pressed both palms against the cold wall, closing his eyes at the sensation of Stiles' hand around his cock. He wasn't going to think straight at the end of that night, he already knew it. 

Stiles was too much, even just the way he looked or talked. The way he moaned.   
Derek wanted to hear that voice moaning his name – that was the only thing in his mind right now. 

  
He looked up again to meet Stiles' eyes and noticed how the boy looked unsure of what to do, unlike a few minutes before. 

“Y-you know, I don't have that many experiences...” Stiles began.   
“I mean... you... you surely had more... more...” he trailed off, feeling stupid and awkward.   
He was ruining everything with his lack of confidence.

  
Derek stared at him in silence while Stiles lowered his gaze to focus his attention somewhere on Derek's neck, not really seeing anything but feeling the pressure of the man's eyes on him. 

The hitman slipped his hand on the side of Stiles' neck and brushed his thumb across his red cheek.   
Stiles' innocence had something extremely appealing to it. He had been a fool for thinking he had lost that side of him, even just for a moment. 

Stiles was never going to change and he liked it like that.

“There's only the two of us here,” he whispered in his ear, leaning back to look into Stiles' eyes.

Looking at the wide, blue eyes in front of him, Derek suddenly felt the need to clarify something, “You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

  
Those words filled Stiles' heart with affection for the man in front of him.   
He had forgotten the last time someone had treated him so gently, not expecting anything from him, not forcing him to do anything. 

It might sound obvious for most people, but for Stiles it was so important. 

He suddenly felt like wanting to turn that night into the best night Derek ever had.

  
His answer came in the form of a small nod, his parted lips finding their way over Derek's mouth again as his hand slowly started moving along the man's hard length.   
Derek's throat tightened, he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the kiss and not on the way Stiles' fingers were wrapped so perfectly around him. 

Stiles worked his cock to full hardness, his thumb teasing the tip with confidence.   
He was getting hard just by hearing the sounds coming out of Derek's mouth. The hitman was trying hard to hold those back, but Stiles wanted to hear more instead. 

He suddenly broke the kiss to kneel down, his knees hitting the wet floor. Derek's hardness was right in front of his face now and it looked way bigger from that angle.   
Stiles wrapped his fingers around the base and pushed the tip into his mouth, sucking on it with slow movements.

  
Derek slammed one hand against the wall, holding back the curses that threatened to slip off his tongue. Stiles' lips were warm and his tongue was teasing the tip of his cock, swirling around it every now and then, while his mouth applied the right pressure on it.   
He thrust forward before he could help it, sliding half of his shaft into Stiles' mouth. 

Stiles was surprised by the sudden movement and tightened his grip around the base, but he didn't lean back.   
Instead, he closed his eyes and started sucking properly on the thick cock, his tongue working on the underside while his teeth slightly grazed the upper side. 

  
“Sorry,” Derek murmured with difficulty, his forehead pressing against the cold tiles and his eyes closed.   
He was gathering all his strength to avoid thrusting into that warmness. 

Stiles was getting more and more into it as Derek's low groans filled his ears. He had a sort of control over the hitman now and he felt overexcited about it.  
He cupped Derek's testicles with one hand, stroking them as he hollowed his cheeks around the hard member. He went on for a while, but he could see Derek's hips shaking slightly in the attempt of holding back, so he released the cock from his mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two. 

He had Derek's pre-cum in his mouth and he swallowed it before looking up. 

“You can do it,” Stiles granted, waiting for Derek to open his eyes and look at him.   
“You can fuck my mouth, I can handle it,” he assured. 

Derek looked at that cute smile and wondered how could such dirty words come from such an innocent face. 

He didn't linger on that thought any longer, though. He grabbed a fistful of Stiles' hair and took his own cock with his free hand, pressing the tip against Stiles' cheeks and lips, smearing both with his pre-cum.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered. 

Stiles didn't need to hear that twice. As soon as he parted his lips, Derek slammed his cock in, reaching the back of his throat with his first thrust.   
Stiles closed his eyes, trying to be as relaxed as possible and fighting his gag reflex as Derek started mouth-fucking him hard. 

He was clearly a man without middle ways. One moment he could be extremely kind, the next he was as wild as a lion. 

Stiles still had to get used to that, but for now he couldn't exactly complain. He would be a liar saying he didn't want anything of what Derek was doing to him.   
He wanted it all, more than he could express with words. 

  
The hand in Stiles' hair prevented him from getting away and soon enough he was choking on the thick cock while Derek's growls filled the shower box.

Stiles couldn't resist anymore and he started palming his own hardness while his hole clenched tightly every time Derek rammed his member inside his mouth. 

The man would stop every once in a while – Stiles would just take deep breaths and cough, drool and pre-cum dripping down his chin, while he secretly enjoyed all of that.

Derek kept his eyes on him, memorizing every frame. The way Stiles would hollow his cheeks around his length, his spit dripping all over his cock, the way he was choking on it.   
He would sometimes thrust in slowly, just to enjoy the sight of the boy's swollen lips tightly wrapped around his thickness, taking it inch by inch without a sound. 

  
“Look at me,” he demanded.

Stiles immediately looked up, just as Derek was thrusting his member all the way to the hilt. Stiles's mouth was full and he was teary-eyed.

“What are you doing?” He added, noticing how the boy was desperately palming his own erection.

Stiles' eyes widened. Something in Derek's voice had changed.   
He was still serious, but also looked somehow playful. Stiles realized he wanted to play with him.

Derek growled and pulled at his hair. “Answer me.”

  
Stiles' mouth was still full of Derek's cock and, as much as he tried to talk around it, he didn't manage to crack more than a couple of undefinable sounds.  
That game was arousing him over the limit. The way Derek was dominating him was making him even harder. He didn't know the hitman could get so playful and possessive and it made him want to find out more about him. 

  
Derek took his cock out of the sinful mouth. If Stiles kept working on him like that he was going to come, and he didn't want to – not yet. 

Stiles tried to push the member into his mouth again.   
“Please... I need...” he pleaded, palming his erection again. 

  
Derek growled and pulled him up, turning Stiles around and pushing him face front against the wall.   
Stiles protested, his erection bumping into the cold tiles. Derek ignored him and pressed himself against his bare back, his wet cock sliding between Stiles' buttocks.   
His wide chest could wrap the whole of Stiles' thinner figure if he only wanted to.

“You were touching yourself,” he whispered in his ear.   
“That's my exclusive, and mine alone.”

As Stiles parted his lips to reply, Derek slipped two fingers inside his mouth, while his other hand grabbed at the soft ass.   
He couldn't wait to be finally inside, but first he wanted to return the favor. 

Stiles was pressing one cheek against the wall and Derek made sure he couldn't move from that position by pushing one hand through his hair. Stiles moaned and took the fingers deeper into his mouth, covering them with his spit because he knew where they were going to be next and he was already shaking in anticipation.

Every time Stiles' lips applied pressure on his fingers, Derek could feel the same pressure on his cock and he quickly got tired of waiting.   
He slid both fingers out of Stiles' mouth and pressed them against his small entrance. 

Stiles scratched his fingers against the wall and pushed back his ass to meet Derek's hand – not that he needed any more hints that the boy wanted it as much as he did, but it was still amusing to see Stiles become so needy.

Derek was there to provide him with everything he wanted. 

He was about to push his fingers inside when he changed his mind.   
They were there to have a proper shower, right? 

  
He smirked and grabbed the shower gel from the small shelf near the tap, squeezing a bit of liquid on both his hands.

“What are you doing?” Stiles whispered in shaky breaths, feeling the lack of fingers near his entrance.   
He couldn't wait any longer. 

Derek dragged his lips along his nape and shoulder blades while his spit-coated fingers took back their place in front of Stiles' hole. His free hand slid down in front of the boy to reach his hardness, and he watched as Stiles stiffened when he wrapped his rough fingers around it.

“Ssh,” Derek murmured against his skin. 

He slipped his middle finger inside slowly, stretching the ring of muscles with skilled movements. At the same time, he started stroking Stiles' length, the shower gel helping his movements. 

  
Stiles cried in pleasure at the double sensation – he didn't know whether to push himself back against Derek's finger or forward into his hand. Derek explored his hole, looking for a particular spot and realizing he was close to it when he felt Stiles' cock getting harder than it already was between his fingers. 

Stiles was biting his lips and trying not to make a sound, and Derek didn't like that.  
He added a second finger and slipped them both inside to the knuckles, getting a loud moan in response. He pushed them in and out repeatedly, a series of erotic sounds escaping Stiles's lips at every movement. 

That was much better, but it still wasn't enough and he knew he couldn't reach that special spot properly with just his fingers.  
He pulled them out and stroked the boy's cock faster, stopping only to tease his tip with his thumb.

He dragged his hand away from the member soon after, tracing the whole of his chest with the shower gel while his free hand stroked his own member a couple of times, before pressing it against the ring of muscles squeezing before him.

  
Stiles took a step back and leaned forward, offering his back to Derek on a silver platter. There was something hard and warm pressing between his buttocks and he knew it wasn't about fingers anymore.   
He pressed both palms against the wall and tried to relax his entrance that kept clenching in anticipation.

 _I can't believe this is happening,_ was his last thought before Derek finally pushed himself inside. 

  
The man grabbed at Stiles' hip, the head of his cock slipping in so easily he had to gather all his stamina to not push the whole length inside with his first thrust.   
Stiles seemed relaxed and open for him, but his legs were slightly shaking. 

Derek wrapped one arm around his waist, pulling himself out before pushing the tip in again. He didn't know if he was doing it to make Stiles comfortable or just to tease him. Maybe both.

Stiles released shaky breaths, his hands looking for something to hold on the wall, finding none. He needed to get used to the sensation of being stretched open again, but Derek was definitely thicker than any other man he ever had, so it was kind of a first time for him.   
His toes were already curling and Derek wasn't even completely inside yet. 

He opened his eyes and looked at the arm tightly wrapped around his belly, the contrast between Derek's golden skin and his paleness looked like a work of art to him.  
His hole was clenching nonstop and he tried his best to change that, managing to relax only after a while. 

He waited for Derek to thrust further into him but Derek kept pushing just the tip in and out of him while he showered his back with bites and kisses. 

Stiles was getting frustrated and he didn't understand what Derek was doing – until a thought hit him. 

Derek was teasing him. He wanted Stiles to beg him. 

Stiles shivered in pleasure and hated himself for being so positively affected by every single one of Derek's games. 

  
“Please...” his throat was completely dry, but he tried his best to convey his sexiest voice. 

“Derek...” 

Derek grinned against the boy's skin. 

“Please what?” 

He stopped thrusting, the head of his shaft still inside Stiles.

Stiles' cheeks were completely red. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wall. He was embarrassed, but also extremely thrilled. 

“I want... Inside...” 

“What do you want inside?” Derek asked, his baritone voice in Stiles's ear. 

Stiles was about to break down. 

“Your cock...” he admitted in something barely louder than a whisper. 

Derek smirked. He was curious to see how much further could he push that game. 

“It's inside already.” 

Stiles was frustrated beyond the limit. He couldn't even push himself back against him because Derek was holding him in place.

“Tell me what you want,” Derek teased again, his lips brushing his ear.

Stiles eventually surrendered to that demon.

“I want it all... inside of me,” he murmured. 

  
Derek smirked and grabbed Stiles's jaw, forcing him to turn his head around. The hitman moved his eyes to look into the boy's ones, an amused look on his face. 

“Naughty,” he repeated, pushing his tongue into Stiles' mouth the same time he pushed his cock inside his hole, straight to the hilt.

  
Stiles cried in the middle of the kiss, getting on his toes as Derek started pounding into him, pushing him against the cold wall.   
His nails were digging invisible holes in it, his legs shaking uncontrollably.   
The sensation was too much for words. 

Derek grabbed Stiles' hips to gain stability as his cock filled every inch of him inside.  
The angle wasn't ideal to hit his prostate, but he had other tricks to please Stiles in the best way. 

He reached for the boy's nipples, rubbing his finger against one of them and feeling the immediate response on his dick as Stiles tensed his muscles around him. 

Derek dig his fingers into the soft flesh of his ass while pinching the same nipple over and over, pulling at it and twisting it around until Stiles was reduced to a sobbing mess in his arms. 

Derek's chest swelled with pride – his first aim was to make Stiles feel utmost pleasure.  
He thrust in once again, until his testicles were pressing against Stiles.

He kept the position for a while, rolling his hips and enjoying Stiles' reaction as he pushed himself against his cock. He was begging for it with his actions and Derek wanted to be an indulgent man for the first time in his life.

He pressed his forehead against Stiles' shoulder, his hands finding their way to the boy's hips again. He closed his eyes and started ramming into him without holding back anymore.   
The box was soon filled with the sounds of skin slapping against other skin, loud moans and pleadings.

  
“I'm close... I'm close...” Stiles cried all of a sudden as Derek kept thrusting into him without break.   
The water was turning cold and Derek realized he wasn't yet satisfied. He stopped and pulled out, leaving Stiles in a state of utter shock. 

“Why did you stop?” He was almost hysteric. 

“Please, please...” He reached one arm behind his back, trying to grab Derek's member and pushing it inside again. 

Stiles was completely wet and open for him, begging for his cock, and Derek had to take a deep breath to prevent himself from finishing what he had started right there and then. 

He turned off the water and stepped out of the box, leaving an incredulous Stiles panting inside. A moment later, he was back in – he wrapped a big towel around Stiles' body and lifted him up in his arms. 

Stiles was bewildered and was doing nothing to hide it – was Derek just cutting it off like that? 

He thought he was enjoying it as much as Stiles was. 

  
Derek left a trail of wet footprints from the bathroom to his bedroom, where he finally laid Stiles on the bed, the towel covering almost the whole width of the mattress. 

The younger appreciated the change of location, but they were both wet and there was no need to interrupt such an intense session just to move to the bed – the shower was just fine, in his opinion. 

However, he rested his head on the pillow and sighed in pleasure as the hitman knelt before him. 

Derek spread Stiles' thighs and took in the image of the boy lying naked on his bed, his legs opened wide and his cheeks completely flushed. His wet hair was still sticking to his delicate face, his body carried the signs of Derek's lips. 

He ran his hands along his milky thighs, looking at the small entrance between them. It was twitching every time Stiles shivered, leaking Derek's precum.   
It was a vision of pure eroticism. 

Derek slipped both hands under his knees, embracing the outer part of his thighs, then he leaned down, tracing a path of wet kisses along Stiles' soft skin.   
The latter immediately forgot about his orgasm and decided to accept and enjoy anything that Derek wanted to do to him. 

Derek seemed overconfident and skilled in what he was doing, as he was for any other thing, and Stiles considered himself lucky to be in the hands of such a man. 

The only thing leaving him puzzled was how Derek seemed to be all wild and violent one moment, yet so caring and kind the next.   
Stiles realized he maybe had the best of both worlds. 

  
Derek was having fun leaving hickeys all over Stiles' inner thighs. He wanted to look at those marks the next morning and remember that night, and he wanted Stiles to look at those marks the next morning and remember that he was Derek's and no one else's.

His personal pleasure could be delayed – he was enjoying pleasing Stiles way too much and he could hear the boy's breathing getting heavy and irregular at times.   
But he wanted more – he wanted to make him go crazy. 

His lips slowly found their way between Stiles' legs and to his loosened hole. It was burning and it was dripping wet.   
Derek could get hard again just by thinking he had just been in there. 

He buried his head between Stiles' thighs, his hands keeping them spread wide while he started teasing the ring of muscles with the tip of his tongue.

Stiles' eyes went wide, his fists grabbing at the sheets and his legs stiffening.   
He looked down, but he could only see Derek's head disappearing between his thighs. Something warm and moist was twirling around his hole and his throat tightened all of a sudden.

“W-what is this...?” He stuttered, dropping his head back on the pillow and covering his eyes with one arm. 

“What... what are you doing?” 

He was almost whining, his erection painfully hard.

Derek raised an eyebrow, looking up to see Stiles' face. 

“You really don't know what I'm doing?” He was confused but also amused. 

Stiles felt embarrassed. Was he supposed to know?   
Derek made him feel like a child at his first experience. 

He couldn't lie though, he really didn't know.   
Kevin had never done something like that to him, he liked another kind of... games. 

Stiles shook his head, blushing even more.

  
Derek was surprised. Stiles' inexperience made him think he wasn't used to someone taking care of his sexual needs. 

He thought about Kevin and realized he most probably was the kind of man who only thought about his own pleasure – which meant Stiles hadn't been properly satisfied in what? Years?

Derek decided he was going to fix that. 

“You'll see,” he promised with a sly smirk, going back to what he was doing. 

He slipped his tongue inside, sucking Stiles' small entrance and tasting himself on his skin. He used one finger to stretch the little hole, in order to push his tongue further.

Stiles' legs started shaking again, his muscles tensing around Derek's tongue. The sounds escaping from his mouth were music to his ears. The thought of being the first man doing something like that to him only made it better.

Stiles felt overexposed, not only because Derek could see literally everything outside and inside of him, but also for the enticing way the hitman was tasting every inch of him inside.   
His hole was loosening up even more, twitching and clenching nonstop.

It was a brand new sensation and Stiles had to shield his face with his hands, feeling embarrassed at the obscene sounds coming out of his mouth.

Derek pushed his finger in, alongside with his tongue, and Stiles closed his thighs in a jerk around Derek's head, his whole body tensing at once.   
He immediately realized what he had done and promptly released Derek from the grip of his legs, looking down to check on him. 

“O-oh my god, I'm s-so sorry...” 

Derek kept sucking on his entrance for a while, not the least bothered by Stiles' actions. He pulled out his finger and worked the hole with just his tongue and lips, making it red and swollen and not to mention, dripping with his spit. 

Stiles threw his head back in a silent moan, fighting to restrain his own climax. He felt like Derek was still not done with his teasing and some masochistic part of him wanted to see and feel more of what the hitman could offer him.

  
Derek took a break from rimming Stiles' hole to grab his hips and turn him around so that the boy was facing the pillow, his ass sticking up in the air.   
Stiles spread his legs and pointed his knees on the mattress, finding his stability. 

He heard Derek fiddling behind him and he closed his eyes, clenching his fists around the towel in anticipation.   
Something started pressing against his hole soon after, but it wasn't what Stiles expected. 

It was cold and solid, it had some sort of pointed end or sharp borders and Stiles knew it wasn't a sex toy.   
He unfortunately had experience with that stuff, even though it was something he wasn't particularly eager to try again. 

He opened his eyes in surprise, pointing his elbows to lift himself up and look down between his legs.   
His heart skipped a beat. 

  
Derek was teasing his hole with the muzzle of his gun. He had his finger on the trigger and was stretching Stiles' entrance with the cold metal. 

Stiles wanted to say something, but his throat went dry while his belly squirmed in pleasure mixed with fear.

Stiles knew by now that Derek wasn't a man in his right mind. 

That he got excited over blood and killings was another known fact.

But Stiles never had the chance nor the reason to wonder about what kinds of kinks he could have in bed.

  
“Derek...” he called out, his voice shaking. “Is it... loaded?”

He had trained with guns long enough to know how dangerous could it be to keep the index on the trigger, and Derek was doing just that. 

Derek smirked, pushing the whole barrel inside him and hitting right on his spot. 

Stiles' arms failed him and he fell face first on the pillow.   
His walls clenched tightly around the cold metal once, twice, several times, until his cavity was used to the new object. 

The hitman started thrusting the weapon in and out of him in a frenzied pace, each thrust meeting with Stiles' moans and leaving him drooling on the pillow.

Never in his life had he thought he would get pleasure from the barrel of a gun and he felt ashamed of his own uncontrollable arousal. 

Derek had an influence on him and he couldn't deny it anymore – how else could he explain his getting excited over such a sinful thing? 

  
“You seem to like my gun more than my cock,” Derek noticed, looking down at Stiles' sweaty back and noticing how bad he was shaking. 

Stiles shook his head, but he still pushed his ass against the weapon. Derek stopped thrusting and watched as Stiles' entrance slowly gobbled up the whole length of the barrel on its own, before releasing it and then swallowing it whole again. 

The boy was literally fucking himself with his gun and Derek was about to lose his mind.

  
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath, depriving Stiles of his toy. 

Stiles protested at the sudden emptiness and his round ass received a slap as punishment. 

“Shut up,” Derek growled, his hands manipulating Stiles until he was on his knees in front of him. 

He shoved the gun in his face. 

“Suck it,” he ordered. 

Stiles glanced at Derek's perfectly hard cock just a few inches away from him, but he knew it was no smart thing to disobey Derek's orders.   
  
He wrapped his lips around the muzzle, hollowing his cheeks and slowly sucking it in.   
He pulled out his tongue and licked the underside of the barrel, then proceeded to twirl it around the edge before finally swallowing it into his mouth.   
He moved his head back and forth, humming around the gun and looking Derek straight in the eyes. 

The man's features had stiffened and his eyes were as black as the night sky. His jaw was tensed and he was clearly enjoying the sight in front of him because his cock was leaking pre-cum nonstop.   
He still had his finger on the trigger but his hand was firm. 

Stiles had stopped worrying about the trigger without realizing – he trusted Derek with all his being and he knew he was never going to hurt him again.

Stiles released the gun from his mouth when it was fully coated with his spit. He looked up and showed a bright smile to Derek. 

“Am I good?” 

Derek groaned in frustration and grabbed a fistful of Stiles' hair, leaning down to crush their mouths together. 

He kissed Stiles like his life depended on it, biting and sucking every bit of those cherry lips. Something threatened to explode inside his chest and he was not sure it was related to his arousal, but he knew for sure it was related to Stiles.

  
When Derek broke the kiss, Stiles blindly looked for his lips for a few more moments, making the hitman crack a smirk in front of his expression. 

He got rid of the gun and pushed Stiles on his back again, lifting his pelvis so that it rested on his strong thighs, his legs at both sides of Derek's waist and his cock pressing exactly against the abused hole. 

He leaned down, resting his arm on the pillow over Stiles' head, one hand finding its way through his wet hair. 

“You're fucking with my brain,” he breathed on his cheek, opening his mouth to kiss him again.   
He would never have enough of those lips.

  
Stiles wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders and laughed on Derek's mouth. 

“You should fuck with something of mine in return, then.”

Derek's eyes sparkled with amusement. Without even realizing, he was falling deeper and deeper for that boy. 

A long, mighty fall. 

And he knew there was no turning back, not after that night. 

“As you wish,” he replied, biting Stiles' chin while he pushed inside him again. 

The angle was perfect and it took Derek just a couple of thrusts to find Stiles' sweet spot again. He hid his face in the crook of Stiles' neck and worked his hole inside out with increasing lust, abusing his prostate over and over again. 

Stiles pulled his legs to his chest, leaving Derek more space to move freely. His fingers dug into Derek's arms and shoulders, tracing his tattoos and his scars.  
Stiles tried to memorize some of the symbols but it was hard to focus on anything that wasn't happening between his legs.

“Harder!” He cried out, feeling his orgasm approaching. 

He didn't know how he had resisted all that time. The hitman had destroyed him.

Derek embraced his body with his strong arms and increased his pounding to the point where Stiles couldn't formulate anything coherent anymore.   
Derek disentangled himself from his hug and leaned back, grabbing Stiles' legs under his knees and keeping them wide as their bodies collided together with violence, filling the room with all kinds of dirty sounds. 

Stiles opened his eyes, spotting Derek between his legs, ramming into him, his sculptured chest covered in sweat and his hazel eyes on him.

The vision was enough to push Stiles over the edge– Derek barely had the time to give him a couple of strokes before the boy spilled his release all over his own belly, arching his back and screaming Derek's name so loudly that the whole neighbourhood had probably heard him well enough. 

All his muscles clenched tightly in the process and Derek couldn't handle the pressure – he released himself inside Stiles with a last couple of short, powerful thrusts. 

He pulled his cock out halfway through his orgasm and stroked it with quick movements, spilling what was left of his release on Stiles' thighs and belly, grinning slyly while he looked at the boy in the eyes. 

They both needed another shower, apparently.

Stiles collected some of the sperm with his fingers and brought them to his lips, getting a taste of it as Derek plopped himself by his side with a groan. 

Stiles could be such a tease when he put his mind to it.

  
They stayed there, eyes on the ceiling without really seeing it, catching their breaths and thinking about everything and nothing.   
It was a comfortable numbness, but it wasn't meant to last. 

  
“Did you do it?” Stiles broke the silence, his eyes still on the ceiling.   
He took another deep breath and turned his head to the side. 

“Kevin,” he added. 

Derek returned his gaze and nodded in silence. His eyes had something extremely intense in them and Stiles felt like melting every time he looked at them. 

Stiles already knew the answer to his question, but he needed to make sure.   
He couldn't believe it– not because he didn't trust Derek's words, it was just too good to be true.   
He needed time to get used to the fact that he was finally free. 

  
He cracked a smile, reaching out and brushing the corner of Derek's mouth with his thumb. 

“Your job is done now. Am I supposed to disappear tomorrow morning and leave you alone or something?” He was joking, but he still felt his heart tremble a little. 

He wanted Derek to say that he could stay with him, possibly forever. 

  
Derek rolled to the side and trapped Stiles' wrist beside his head. He took in his surprised face and leaned down to brush their mouths together.

“If you want to go, you're free to do so,” Derek replied, his voice rougher than usual. 

“But in that case, I'll have to use all my resources to come and find you again and it could be a bit burdensome so you better don't do anything stupid again.”

  
Stiles' heart was pounding against his ribcage. 

Was that Derek's way of telling him that he wanted Stiles by his side?   
It sounded like it. 

For the second time that night, Stiles wondered if he was living in a dream.

  
Derek's mind was in turmoil. The words leaving his mouth didn't come from his brain and he had no control over them.   
He was usually really good at managing his emotions, but now he was exposing himself too much. 

Maybe Stiles was really fucking with him – and not only physically. 

“It was amazing,” Stiles changed the subject, smiling brightly.

“I... I never came so hard in my life,” he blushed a little.

Derek raised an eyebrow but his eyes sparkled with amusement.   
“I don't know if I should believe you. You had a taste of my cock and now you're talking about running away, I guess I didn't leave a good impression.” 

Stiles threw his head back and burst into laughter.   
He didn't know Derek could get so funny and he felt like that night had something magical about it. 

Derek was showing him a bit of what was behind his cold facade – Stiles couldn't ask for more.

Derek's eyes lingered on the elegant neck exposed in front of him. He wanted to bite it, he wanted to take Stiles again, to fuck him until he couldn't walk anymore.   
He wasn't used to do single rounds and there was still plenty of time until dawn, in his opinion. 

But he didn't want to strain Stiles either. The boy was surely tired as hell and he wasn't used to Derek's ways.   
Derek didn't want to force him, so he rolled back to his side and sighed, resting one arm behind his head. 

“You should get some sleep,” he murmured with his eyes closed. 

Stiles rolled to the side as well, raising an eyebrow. 

“Do you really want to sleep?”

“I didn't say that,” Derek replied, without moving. 

“I'm saying you should.”

  
Stiles furrowed both of his eyebrows. He slipped his hand down Derek's chest and wrapped his fingers around his cock. 

As he had thought, Derek was still hard.

Stiles smiled and got up, straddling Derek's groin with his legs.  
Derek opened his eyes wide and found a naked Stiles towering over him.

“What are you doing?” 

He didn't manage to hide the arousal in his voice.   
The boy was full of surprises, apparently.

Stiles slowly grinded himself on Derek's cock, moaning in pleasure. 

“Your gun is still loaded, mister hitman,” he was smiling from ear to ear. 

Derek's throat tightened.   
  
_This kid..._

Stiles clearly didn't know that provoking someone like Derek could be extremely dangerous. 

The hitman grabbed his hips and tried to reverse their positions, but Stiles blocked him.

“Leave everything to me,” he whispered in his sexy voice, tracing Derek's jaw and neck with kisses, until he reached the tattoos on his shoulder.   
He started biting and sucking the inked skin. 

“Just relax.” 

  
Derek fell back against the pillow. He usually didn't like not being in control of whatever situation, but maybe he could do an exception for that night.   
Stiles seemed to have some interesting plans in his mind and the hitman wanted to know more about it. 

His hands palmed Stiles' buttocks and he arched his back, grinding his crotch against Stiles and enjoying how the boy opened his mouth wide in shock.   
He was going to let Stiles take the lead, but it didn't mean he was going to make things easy for him. 

Derek knew there were still many things that needed to be said or discussed between them, but that moment was so perfect the way it was, it felt like a crime to ruin it with words. 

He had been deprived of Stiles' company for so long he had almost forgotten what it meant to have the boy by his side, to touch him, to feel him – he was going to delay everything but that.

He didn't care, the entire world could wait, the moon and the stars along with it.

Even if his heart had yet to realize it, his feelings had grown stronger with each passing day spent away from Stiles, to the point where now he could no longer get a hold of them.

Stiles' warmth was reminding Derek what it really felt like to be alive.   
It made him feel dizzy, but in an extremely pleasant way. 

And he was going to enjoy every moment of it. For the rest of his life.

He suddenly smirked at the thought of all the things he was going to do to the boy.

  
After all, the night was still long.

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooo!!   
> If you guys are reading this 🙃🙃
> 
> Hi! So, as you can see I've marked this story as complete.
> 
> I've been writing this for so long and honestly I loved every bit of it. I hope you guys like it too! (Sorry for the grammar and poor English.)
> 
> Some of you left lovely comments and kudos, thank you so much!!  
>  Well, this story is not a overly fluffy one, it's quite angsty and violent,( my mind works in a weird way☠)
> 
> I want to say, I've some future plans with this one. I want to write about those Sterek fluffy, smutty domestic moments that I couldn't fit in this book, cause plot and stuff.  
> Also, Peter is still out there😱😱
> 
> I have some of the chapters prepared too.
> 
> But sad to say I didn't get much response from you guys,...
> 
> I don't know, if you are thinking : Yes! I need more! 😘😘  
> Or you are thinking : EW! Sis, get your weird story away from me! 😱
> 
> Anyways💜💜 Please let me know if I should post the 2nd part. Or not.   
> Or I can continue post more chapters here...? ( Does it work like that? I have no idea haw posting works.)
> 
> Ok, sorry for the long note. I'll be back!  
>  -A


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